A Fracture in Fate
by The Lady Frost
Summary: A moment in time - a legend lost - and a girl just trying to find her place in a world without him. Love happens, sometimes when we're busy trying to find out exactly what we've lost. Complete.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N:** If you've ever read my Magnum Opus - Absolution, you'll remember this little caveat of an alternate ending. If you haven't, what you needed to know can be found right here in this opening chapter of a small, delcious, and wonderful Rebecca Chamber's sized journey to a new beginning. A New Year and a new life for her. A fresh start. A fitting moment of me tossing it up here for those who've never read, and those who want to read it again.

Thank you, as always, for all of you.

Happy New Year.

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**A Fracture in Fate**

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**"To the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure."**

**― J.K. Rowling, Harry Potter and the Sorcerer's Stone**

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**Schloss Wiedereinführen, Germany 2017**

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"You're fucking insane."

The helicopter hovered, dangling the rappel lines down into the darkness of the castle beneath. The man who spoke was watching them with narrow, angry eyes. "I can't just drop you here."

Leon strapped the pully to his vest and tested the strength. "Sure, you can. The two of us can get in much smoother without a big show. I don't want a hundred guys storming that damn castle. You'll get everyone killed."

"Three of us," Said Kevin Ryman, "Three."

Leon met his eyes, held them. "You should stay behind. You aren't trained for this kind of thing."

"So? Figure even my old dumb ass can follow orders."

The constant whoosh of helicopter blades disturbed the silence inside the chopper. He finally shrugged and moved to check Jill's pulley. She said nothing, watching him. They were all in black fatigues, vests and camouflage with any available part as protected as they were going to get. They were outfitted with weapons and strapped for attack. They were hoping to sneak in, locate Chris and Rebecca, and sneak out but…of course nothing ever went as planned.

The helicopter pilot threw up his hands. "Ya'll are nuts but whatever. You get into a tight spot, radio for backup."

"Yup." Leon moved to secure his line to the pulley, "We know what we're doing. I've been going in undermanned, outgunned, and generally screwed forever. This won't be the last time."

"Are you sure you're ready?"

He met Jill's long look and nodded. "You bet. Let's do it."

Oh, she wanted to do it. She wanted to do lots of things. She let the little niggle of shame make her cough. Stop, her brain said, quit staring at him with big googoo eyes.

Leon went down the line from the chopper, smooth and fast. The movement was controlled and precise. He slid down with as little sound as possible. He landed on the cold cobblestone roof soundlessly and unhooked the pulley from his vest.

Jill and Kevin landed after him, soft and silent.

They knew the basic layout of the castle. A phone call to Alyssa Ashcroft had netted them the right person to get them blueprints and help them plan their attack. A direct assault had been nixed. They'd kill Chris and Rebecca the minute it was discovered. Stealth was their only hope here.

They moved across the roof of the castle, crossing the ramparts of the old guard towers. It was a massively sized, if slightly crumbling affair. The maintenance on it had slipped since Arias' death a few years before. Locating it had been easy. It was in his former wife's maiden name.

The guard tower offered a set of stone steps down into the bowels of the castle. The night breathed around them, cool and quiet. The fall was in full swing and the first smell of snow was kissing the air. It wouldn't be long before it started to turn to winter.

Leon went down the steps first, clearing the base of the stairs when he got there. The castle was…too empty. On high alert, they made their way across the grand foyer and it was eerily reminiscent of the Spencer Mansion. From the portrait hung beyond the dual staircase, to the formal dining room with the fireplace off to the left.

They hurried behind the grand stair case to find the stairs leading down into the dungeons. Again, there was no one. The place appeared to be abandoned.

They cleared the dungeons quickly. It was dank, dark, ominous…and deserted. Cells stood open and forlorn. Inside there was no sign of life or any residual suggestion that anyone, ever, had lived there.

At the top of the stairs again, they joined eyes in a semicircle.

"This stinks worse than a weeks worth of unwiped ass."

Leon nodded at Kevin's remark, very aware that it was a bad idea to keep looking. But what choice did they have? The answers were here somewhere.

"Could the intel have been wrong?" Jill queried, studying the hallway where they stood.

"Unlikely. The transmission came from here. No question."

"Ok. So we keep looking."

They moved up the small flight of steps to the door leading out into the gardens. The gardens were ornate, beautiful, and headed toward their initial stages of winter slumber. There was a large and beautiful fountain with three dancing nymphs spilling water from their hands. There was a series of twists and turns and tight corners.

And not a bad guy in sight.

The other side of the immense garden spilled them into a courtyard with large, looming, endless tower. Clearly this was where prisoners of importance had been kept back in the castle's prime. The courtyard was wide and beautiful, flanked on either side by trees with beautiful falling leaves. Lamps lit the walk way toward the tower, flickering in the cool night breeze and casting long shadows on the cobblestone path.

In the center of the courtyard, a sculpture of a warrior stood nearly twenty feet tall, in full armor and clearly meant to speak of justice and valor that the prisoner's in the tower were lacking. The giant statue gave them all the creeps as they moved toward. They hurried across the courtyard toward the tower.

The tower door opened and Alesio stepped out. Just like that, the trap was sprung.

Alesio wore a floppy little hat like the three musketeers might have worn in powder blue. He wore an expensive suit in the same shade. He had his katana on his back and a smile on his face.

"Oh I couldn't believe it! I did not! But it is true. You are here…and you have brought me another beefy toy to play with."

Kevin made some sound of disgust, "Did we fall into a time warp or something? What's this dude's get up supposed to do, inspire a fashion crisis?"

Jill aimed her pistol at him. "Where is he, you perverted sack of shit, where's Chris?"

"Oh!" Alesio gestured and out of the shadows beside the statue came Chris Redfield. "He's right here!"

Chris leaned on the statue, watching them. He was dressed in full combat gear, with his big knife strapped down his back. He watched them and his expression was empty.

Jill hurried toward him and Leon put his hand out, halting her. "Don't."

The warning was clear and very calm.

She stopped. "Chris…come with us. We've come to get you."

Chris said nothing.

Alesio smiled, "He has been my toy for so long. He is not yours anymore but mine. You didn't save him, little girl. You let him rot here. And I…loved him back to life."

Jill felt the wet ball of dread in her belly. She lowered her gun and took a step toward Chris. Leon held her back again, shaking his head. "We couldn't find you. We tried. We came as soon as we knew. I'm so sorry."

Again, Chris said nothing and his face showed the same.

Alesio gestured, "Chris…show them what I taught you. Show them the power of pain."

Chris drew the big knife down his back. Jill shook her head and shook it again. "He won't hurt me."

"Jill…" Kevin stepped up beside her, "That's not him. Look at him. He's not in there."

Kevin lifted his gun and Jill slapped it down. "NO! Don't you dare!" She holstered her own weapon. "You two take care of the big guy….I can handle Chris."

Leon watched her face, waited, and finally nodded.

She had to do this. It was the only way she could finish the story her way. It would end how it would end.

Leon turned back to Alesio. "We have unfinished business, you and I."

"Look at you, little American agent. You are not so pretty now. Did Maria destroy your pretty face? She took all your pretty hair as well. I guess you have been broken after all."

Leon drew the katana off his back and the wakizashi from beside him. He watched the other man, considering. "Not yet. Why don't you come see how broken I am?"

Alesio drew his sword, twirling it with a whistle of blade and wind. "Will we dance as before, pretty samurai? Will you sing so pretty as you bleed so red?"

"Only one way to find out."

Alesio rushed him, inhumanly fast. He swung the blade toward him and Kevin fired the shotgun, once, twice, three times. It blasted him in the face, in the chest, in the stomach. Alesio staggered, surprised, and Leon brought both blades down against him.

The found flesh and bit through, hit bone and kept on going. Leon split him into three pieces that hesitated, held and finally slid apart. Alesio stared, wide eyed, and sprayed blood like a geyser. It pumped out in squirts and madness, staining the ground red beneath him as he fell to his knees. Kevin unloaded another round in his gushing body as he fell backward on the ground.

"…this guy kicked your ass before?" Kevin seemed surprised as they watched Alesio's body bleed and twitch on the ground.

"Yeah. He probably didn't think you'd shoot him."

"How fucking stupid is that?"

"Pretty fucking stupid."

Kevin and Leon locked eyes and both of their faces said the same thing: that had been too easy. This was not right. Something was terribly, horribly, desperately wrong here. They turned in tandem and Jill was on her knees.

Chris had his hand around her throat, choking her.

"Hey!" Kevin hoisted the shotgun. "Let her go, you fucking asshole!"

Chris lifted his head, twitched. Jill seized the opportunity. She pushed up under his arm and broke his hold and grabbed his wrist before she rolled back, drove her feet into his stomach, and pushed. She tossed him, fast and perfect.

Chris flew through the air and came down on his back, writhing from the pain of it.

Kevin put the shotgun to his face. "Stay down, big guy. Do us both a favor."

Chris was breathing heavily, watching them. He twitched but said nothing. There was a wet gurgle of sound. It was like bubbling breath beneath the water.

Leon and Jill turned toward it.

Alesio's body was reknitting so fast it was like watching a fast-forwarded movie but where it reknit, it burst with mutation. The bubbling and breeding of flesh and bone turned into a grotesque and grimacing monster. Kevin swung the shotgun toward it, Chris kicked him in the stomach, and Jill kicked Chris in the balls.

Kevin got the shot off and it smashed into that growing, writhing, horrible mass that still somehow on that macabre freak show, managed to look like Alesio. Leon rushed it, smooth and fast, the blades bit and swirled, sliced and diced. It burst with blood and screamed but it just kept getting bigger.

A tentacle flew out of its back and smashed into him. It tossed him up and out. He lost his swords in flight and came down in a heap of pain and speed. No time to reflect on it, Leon rolled and the tentacle smashed into the ground where he'd been.

Jill jerked him to his feet, pulling him into step behind her. She took a brutal slash at the waving tentacle and split it open in a gush of blood and black goop. It waved madly, furious. Chris was on his knees and trying to choke Kevin to death.

Leon spun a back kick into Chris' side and kicked him again in the stomach. Kevin rolled away, gasping. "Fucker! God damn giant muscles."

Alesio was now about fifteen feet tall and made of a mass of gross, bubbles, exposed muscle and tentacles. To try to define the horror of it was like trying to define a nightmare. It was, simply, horrifying and getting bigger.

It looked one tentacle around Leon, one around Kevin, it grabbed Jill with a third and brought them all crashing together above it. There were shouts and grunts of pain. It separated them, squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter. It smacked them back together with a crash of skin and pain. They were either going to die crushed to death or smooshed together. What a way to go.

"I told you I wasn't going to leave you guys. It's a good god damn thing I didn't either. You can say you're welcome later." The voice of the pilot was loud in their headsets. The whoosh of the RPG was even louder. It zipped by in a burst of sound and light and smashed into the monster that was trying to turn them into silly putty.

The explosion was massive and awesome and gross. The thing that had been Alesio screamed as it was blown into pieces, chunks, and flopping, sizzling, acid like goop. It exploded like a burst water balloon, splattering everything it touched as it did, covering them in filth, muck, and stench. They all tumbled down, hit, rolled, crawled and tried to take cover. But it was hard to take cover from massive, disgusting, all encompassing putrid rot, death, and rain.

"Get some cover!"

They scrambled, ducking and running and the choppers guns started rattling off loud, sparking, constant rounds. It blasted the smoking pieces of the still screaming monster, turning them into smears on the grass. In the midst of the madness, Chris grabbed Leon and jerked him up to his feet.

Face to face, they eyed each other.

"What did they do to you?" Leon whispered, his voice nearly lost to the rapid thunder of constant gun fire.

Chris lifted him off his feet by his vest, shaking him like a dog with a bone. Leon kicked him in the groin. Poor Chris, his nuts were going to fall off from such continuous abuse. He followed up the blow to the groin with a kick to the knee. Chris went down on all fours.

Jill was there now, grabbing him and binding his hands behind his back. They cuffed him and dropped him to his face in the dirt. The whirling motor of the guns above them came to an end and the ensuing silence was nearly painful.

But there was nothing left of Alesio now but a few steaming streams of smoke and blood stains on the grass. The pilot said, "You're welcome, you idiots."

And the chopper lifted up into the air again.

Leon kinda liked that angry pilot.

Jill sat on Chris' back, holding him down. He grunted and snarled. They all stood and leaned and panted for a long moment. Finally, Jill spoke, "There had better be a cure for the man under my ass right now. I will not kill him."

Chris finally went still, breathing hard.

"Thank you," Jill remarked, "I was tired of the rodeo. I usually have a man buy me a drink first before I let him buck beneath me so hard."

Kevin chuckled.

They all looked…awful. Dirty, nasty, soaked in goop and slime and shit. Jill had a blob of something gross and jiggling on her head. Leon looked like he'd gotten a cumshot of blood delivered dead center to his face. Kevin smelled like an old man's ass.

It was a pretty gross trio of hapless heroes.

Jill looked at Leon, "So what now?"

He glanced at the tower. "Now we go up."

Jill sighed, "I was afraid you were going to say that. But maybe Kevin should wait here with Chris."

"Wait, what?"

"I'm going to get the pilot to evac him. He can't be left alone while he waits though."

"Why me though?"

"Because Kev, honestly. You're in good shape but not Wesker good. Last time, Leon and I barely even survived it. He'll wipe the floor with you."

Kevin blinked at her, offended. "Well…that smarts a little."

On the ground, Chris finally spoke, "Get off of me."

"No." Jill bounced on his back to emphasize her point. "Stay down or I'll hurt you."

"Your ass is already hurting me. It's bony."

She blinked. Kevin blinked. Leon blinked.

Finally, she said, "It is NOT bony. It's fabulous."

Muffled, Chris retorted, "Tyra Banks has a fabulous ass. Yours is white girl skinny."

Jill laughed, loudly, and rolled him over. She hugged his bound body to her. He grunted again and sniffed. His face collapsed into lines of disgust. "Woman, let go of me right now. You smell worse than shit, piss, and three day old cum. Seriously."

She didn't let go but she laughed again. "I don't care, you stupid pig. I don't care. I thought you were dead."

She kissed his face and made him cringe. "No more. Please. I beg of you. Uncuff me."

No one moved.

"Seriously…uncuff me."

Jill shook her head and stepped back from him. "Jill, what the fuck?"

"No. Sorry Chris. But think about it. We have no clue what you could do if we did that. I don't want to risk it."

Chris sighed, "I'm fine. Seriously. I don't even feel anything like before. I have completely control of my body. I swear."

From within the tower, Albert Wesker emerged.

Chris said, a little more desperately, "Jill…let me go. NOW."

Jill stepped in front of him. She protected him with her lithe body. He was aware of it. Kevin and Leon were aware of it. That was love right there. And it was kinda beautiful. "I wondered where your Benedict Arnold ass was. Figure you for the type of coward that shows up when the cavalry is dead."

"I would suggest we stop this showdown before it starts. Drop your weapons."

Surely he was joking.

"If you don't, I will have Ada Wong killed Rebecca. She is on the top floor of this tower, right now, holding the little scientist hostage."

Leon lowered his gun. Kevin did the same.

Jill shot Albert Wesker in the stomach. He stumbled, teetered on the stairs of the tower and fell off, hitting the ground in a heap. The twenty or so Ganado that were ranged around him looked terribly confused about what to do next.

Shocked, everyone stared at her.

She turned to Leon, "Go. Get Rebecca. I will hold him here." She knelt and uncuffed Chris. "Betray me again, I will shoot you in the dick."

Chris rose and Kevin handed him the shotgun. Thunder rumbled in the distance. "Let's finish this."

Kevin said, "You heard her Kennedy." Kevin handed him the katana, hilt first, "Get the hell out of here. Go save the girl."

Leon nodded, nodded again, and started running. He broke through the gathered Ganado flanked by cover fire from his comrades. When there should have been one to block him, a head would explode. When there was a fist, there was a shot to the shoulder that spun it away. The best in the business had his back.

It was time to go it alone.

He burst into the tower at a full run. The stairs curled in circles up to the very top. The staircase was narrow, claustrophobic and dark. He drove a kick when they came around the corners to fight him. He put a bullet in a knee and jerked, throwing them behind him. When the stairs narrowed, he pulled the sword and kept going.

He spitted two together on the blade and ripped the blade clean, kicking them back as they fell in a burst of blood. Where there were faces, he lunged. Where there bodies, he struck. He reached the top of the stairs, panting, covered in blood.

The roof of the tower was a large circle and high enough in the sky that the wind was a desperate, shoving thing. Lightning snaked across the sky, the perfect backdrop to what was waiting there. The first spatter of rain hit his face as he moved, slowly.

"Drop it please."

Ada held Rebecca against her, the gun to her temple. She was frightened but unharmed. She was softer, fuller, more beautiful than he'd been able to remember. The sight of her nearly broke him at the same time it empowered him.

He tossed aside the sword and it clattered across the rooftop.

"The gun too."

He jerked it clean and tossed it.

It didn't matter. It wasn't about weapons now. Not anymore. The thunder rumbled and the wind kicked up more rain. Down below, the sounds of fighting rose to echo on the wind.

"You didn't come alone."

Leon shook his head. "Not this time."

"It doesn't matter. I've done all I can for you. This is how it has to end."

"Yeah…this is how it has to end." He held his hands out, palms open, "Let her go, Ada. Just once, do the right thing here."

The rain converted to a steady pouring. Lightning split the sky and flashed, bright and close. Down below, gun fire peppered the air like fireworks.

Ada said, "For what it's worth, I wanted to love you. It seems some of us just aren't capable of that."

"That and a buck fifty might just be enough to get me on the subway. But otherwise, it doesn't matter a great deal. Let her go, Ada. Now."

"I've done what I can to repay some past mistakes. I let the game get ahold of me and made a few missteps. But I never intended to lose. Somehow I'm standing here the loser."

"So, make it right. Let Rebecca go."

Ada sighed, centering herself.

"Rebecca?" He called to her but kept his gaze on Ada, "You ok?"

"Yes. I'm not hurt. They told me you were dead. They told me you were gone. I knew they lied. I played it safe and close to the vest. I knew you would come."

He laughed a little and touched the cross on his chest. "Thanks to this."

"No. That's a symbol. The strength has always been in you."

Ada shoved Rebecca away from her, just like that. Rebecca ran toward him. He caught her, one armed, against his body and put her behind him. He wanted to hold her until he fell apart from it but he put her behind him.

And he faced the bitch in red.

Rebecca said, softly, "I have so many things to tell you."

"Me too."

Ada moved to the edge of the roof. "I have to go get Albert. This isn't where his story ends. But ours? I think ours ends today, Leon. Not how I wanted it to. But sometimes, we just have to take the ending we get."

"Ada! Don't!"

He started for the gun and she shot him. Just like that. She drilled him. The bullet drilled him in the chest plate and put him on his ass. He skidded backward from the impact. He felt like he'd been drop kicked by a buffalo.

"Stay down, Leon! The next one goes in your head!"

"You first, you bitch!"

He turned his head and saw Rebecca there, aiming his pistol at Ada. Thunder rumbled, crashing loud and infuriating. Lightning flashed, too close. He could all but hear it sizzle.

He rose to one knee.

Rebecca stood between him and Ada.

Ada tilted her head, studying her. "Little mouse. Don't be a fool. Think about what you're risking."

"Sometimes you have to risk everything."

"If you kill me, he'll still have been mine first. You can't erase me with a bullet."

"No but I can kill you with one. You don't get to run away this time. Not this time. It's time to face the music, Ada. Your dance is over."

Down below the fighting had gone silent. The good guys were dead or they were coming. And time was up.

"Stupid little fool. You die for nothing." Ada pulled the trigger. Two guns went off simultaneously in a flash of lightning. Thunder echoed the boom of it.

Rebecca was hit broadside and thrown to the roof. He came down atop her like a muscled shield.

Ada Wong was clutching her throat. Blood pumped between her fingers as she staggered back. Shock was written all over her beautiful face even as she slipped and tumbled back into the darkness.

The thunder rolled. The lightning flashed.

Rebecca lay on the rooftop in the freezing storm. Her skin was clammy and cold. Her breathing was fast and sharp.

She waited for the pain to start. She waited to feel it.

And the warmth spread over her torso and chest, pooling in the hollow of her throat. But there was no pain. There was nothing but warmth.

And finally…panic.

She wasn't bleeding.

But he was.

Under her breath, a horrible breath, "…oh god. OH GOD."

She pushed, she rolled him. The door of the roof was thrown open, chaos came through – shouting, panic, and people.

But she didn't care. She couldn't care.

The bullet had taken him where!? WHERE!? The fucking vest he wore was in her way. She ripped at it and screamed in frustration because she couldn't get it unlatched.

"HELP ME! Someone help me! Hurry! PLEASE! What have you done, Leon?! What have you done!?"

But that was ok. It was ok. Chris helped her. He was there.

They got the vest off.

The heavy round had taken him in the chest. She threw her hands on it, shaking her head. She started CPR. She weakened, and Chris cycled in and Jill and Kevin.

She shouted, "Where's the medievac!? WHAT THE HELL IS TAKING SO LONG!?"

But he wasn't breathing. She knew it. She knew he wasn't moving. She could see his pupils.

She was a DOCTOR. She knew what she was seeing. He was so thin. He was so hurt. He'd come too soon, tried too hard, pushed too fast. He'd been broken and came here to save her.

She'd never even been able to tell him…she'd never even gotten to say goodbye.

Chris was watching her in the driving rain. He shook his head, gently.

She put her hands out to him, soaked in Leon Kennedy's blood, cloaked…in failure.

Soaked in blood, silent and still, he looked at peace for the first time since she'd known him. He wasn't haunted. He wasn't hunted by demons that had no name. He'd saved the girl. He'd stopped the bullet.

He'd died the hero.

And he'd left her alone to mourn him.

Rebecca whispered, "Rest in peace, Leon Kennedy. May flights of angels lift you to your resting place…you noble bastard." She clutched his body to her, rocking, rocking, rocking. The little cross he wore pressed between them, stained in red.

She gripped it in her fist and jerked it free, clutching it madly. It cut her palm and mixed their blood on the shiny silver surface.

It was all she had left of the faith she'd given him. And it hadn't been able to stop a bullet.

She'd failed him.

She'd lost him.

There was no absolution for her here with his ghost. And nothing left of the hero who'd saved her life on a rooftop no long before.

The sound of her weeping was lost in the relentless pounding of the perfect storm.


	2. Chapter 2

** A Question of Faith**

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"_Faith is taking that first step, even when you can't see the whole staircase." -Martin Luther King_

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**Silver Lake Montana 2017**

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She sat in the little red SUV staring at the massive house.

She'd made love to him that first time in that house.

It was, probably, where Faith had been conceived.

It was hers now.

The lawyer with the papers that morning had made sure she knew it. He'd left her everything. Every penny. Every acre. Every nook and cranny.

Alighting from the SUV, Rebecca eased around the back door and opened it. In the pretty pink car seat, her sweet faced daughter was sucking on her toes. Somehow, she'd nearly gotten the whole foot in there, sock and all.

She was three months old and precious.

She'd never meet her father.

But she had his eyes. And the slope of his nose. And that smile. And his hair. The gold of it.

She grinned around her feet, happy.

And his humor.

Rebecca's heart shuddered in her chest. She grinned back, stroking a finger down that soft cheek, "Faith – my girl – who's Mama's baby?"

Faith babbled uselessly, showing her the foot.

"I know!" Rebecca exclaimed as she took out the seat and carried it up the porch to the door, "It's a nice foot, to be sure. Does it taste like chicken I wonder?"

She keyed into the pad by the door and went into the enormous house.

Leon's house.

Leon's land.

Leon's baby.

Jesus. How did she do this?

In captivity, she'd held on to the idea of protecting Faith while she'd been in her belly and once she'd come into the world. Surprisingly, although he was soulless, Wesker had been a gentle captor to her when he discovered she was gestating.

Often times, when she was working on things for him, he'd stop beside her and touch her belly to feel the baby kick.

It was…almost fatherly or something.

The disgust in her had doubled each time he'd done so. But she'd taken all that Leon had spent so long teaching her about hiding her feelings and played the perfect little prisoner. She'd been amiable and easy going. She'd done what he'd asked. She'd never fought back.

In one hand, Faith had saved her.

Her pregnancy had likely spared Rebecca any undue torture.

They didn't hand her to Gomez, after all. Ada Wong had stepped in at the eleventh hour to spare her from that. Rebecca would never know why now.

And it didn't matter.

Whatever she'd done for Faith, Ada had put a bullet into Leon Kennedy and killed him.

There was no absolution here for her. None.

Faith was contently chewing her foot, so Rebecca set her seat down in the living room to watch the fireplace crackle. The housekeeper was happy to keep an eye on her while Rebecca wandered the palatial estate.

She was assuming Leon would want her to keep the staff on. She was going to do that for him.

The ranch was self-sufficient. It shouldn't surprise her to know he'd been producing an income off of it. She wasn't sure how to keep doing that now in his absence. She knew nothing of ranching.

But it had meant so much to him. His happy place. His retirement. He'd had it all lined up.

How did she keep it going for him?

Clearly, she should hand it down to Faith. It would be what he would want.

Aloud, as she often did now, she spoke to him, "You've left me this beautiful place and no directions on how to run it. Always a bit of a pain in the ass, Leon Kennedy."

Somehow, the talking out loud made her feel closer to him.

She'd laid him to rest on the estate where he belonged. The turnout had been enormous. He would have been amazed to see how many lives he'd impacted. There wasn't an empty seat or a dry eye in the house. A simple, elegant ceremony – a few speeches and plenty of stories that had laughter and light in them. A funny guy, was Leon Kennedy. His humor had touched everyone who'd known him.

The world was a sadder place without him.

Her world? It was darkness.

He'd always called her his "light". She wasn't sure what kind of light she was, really. Because she couldn't see anything but grief on most days. They'd had so little time together. She'd just begun to really know him. She'd loved him since the first damn time he'd opened his mouth, you HAD to love him, he was wonderful.

But she'd just begun to really know the real him. They'd just begun to really love each other.

How did she reconcile the end of that without being able to really let go?

She wanted more time.

There was no more. He was gone. He wasn't going to burst in the door and have her laughing. He wasn't going to roll on her in the middle of the night and made her cry out with need. He was just gone.

Poof.

Gone.

He'd been so thin, so hurt, so lost. He'd need a lot longer to be ready for what he'd done. He wasn't ready. He'd stormed the castle, literally, and died saving the girl.

Claire said he'd died twice on the table before that.

Apparently, the third time was the charm.

She was the girl who'd killed Leon Kennedy.

Rebecca pressed a fist to her belly to try to stop the snakes the curled and coiled and killed her there. Under the grief, a rage and guilt burned and boiled. It nearly choked her on a good day. All her speeches to him about finding his peace and seeking his truth…and she was a hypocrite. Because she was lost without him.

And she couldn't find her peace any more than she could find the answers to what to do with this massive ranch he'd loved so much.

Rebecca stepped into the bedroom where they'd laid together, where'd she'd watched him take off his armor and lay down his sword, where she'd stood and listened to his music and knew she'd love him forever.

The guitar was sitting by the rocker where he'd sat countless times and strummed, feeling his pain and playing to give voice to it. It was beautiful, shiny almost, and untouched for so long.

Her fingers brushed the strings and fill the room with pointless chords.

Just that touch, it was enough, it hurt like she'd burned her fingers.

Her hand curled into a fist, shaking. She said, aloud, "How do I do this? How do I exist in a world where there is no Leon Kennedy? How do I live with knowing it should have been me? Leon…it should have been me who died on that rooftop…"

Not the hero. Not the HERO. What became now, of the world that needed a hero?

She'd taken the hero. She'd gotten him killed.

And all that was left was his guitar.

She couldn't run the ranch. She couldn't play the guitar. She wasn't Leon Kennedy.

She was just the girl left behind to raise his baby…and mourn him the rest of her life.

She came the down the stairs to the sound of talking.

Her ears perked up at the familiar timbre of the man's voice. She turned into the huge living room to find Chris Redfield holding her baby. He did it…effortlessly. It was sort of impressive given the massive size of him and his discomfort in the beginning.

And yet…it shouldn't surprise her. After all, he'd been the one to deliver Faith into the world. And become her staunchest ally and her best friend while they'd been prisoners in that god forsaken castle.

Schloss Wiedereinführen, Germany- 2017

The pain started on her daily walk through the grounds.

It was nagging at first. Just lower back. It was annoying. Like most pains these days, it came and went and was mostly tolerable.

Wesker always had Chris escort her around the grounds for her walks.

Another way of punishing Chris, another way of punishing her. He forced them together and expected them, no doubt, to plan their escape.

They were doing that, no lie there, but never in full view of the castle. Never where anyone could hear. And NEVER on her walks.

She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, Chris was only alive because of her pregnancy.

She'd never forget the moment she'd been thrown in front of him. Bloody, panting, he'd been fighting so hard. It was all over him. He was naked and abused, scarred and shaking. What had they done to him?! Her heart had broken to see him there.

She'd risen to her knees, he'd seen her big belly, and he'd dropped his knife. Just like that.

Done.

What did it take to make Chris Redfield submit?

A pregnant lab mouse, apparently.

He'd begun to play the game. So had she. It was months and months of careful maneuvering. It was months and months of careful subterfuge.

She'd gotten good at sneaking between guards at odd hours to meet him. He'd gotten good at occupying Alesio with things to keep his eyes off his favorite toy. Each time Chris met her in the dark, in the moonlight, he was a little more haunted and a little more scarred. A new slash, a new bruise, a new series of burns…the nasty monster that was Alesio had tortured him within an inch of his life.

She'd heard, once from Maria while the nasty bitch had brushed Rebecca's hair and hummed happily, that Alesio liked to burn the genitals of his toys. That he tried to castrate the ones that disobeyed him. She was horrified to think Chris was no longer…a man? No longer functional? She'd NEVER asked.

As she walked beside him, she wondered what he'd given up to still be here with her. Her stalwart protector, her companion, her friend. He was all these things. He never let her give up hope. They could beat him everyday, cut off every piece of him, and he'd still be Chris Redfield – the man who didn't know how to give up and lie down and die.

As they walked, Rebecca put her head on his arm and cuddled it to her. He stiffened and then relaxed, softening, as he always did, to show her enough affection to keep them both sane. It was so hard to feel human in the castle of death and pain.

They clung to the idea of their humanity like desperate mourners holding on to ghosts of dead loved ones.

Without each other, the other was very aware they'd have died long ago.

Chris said, softly, "How's the fetus today?"

Rebecca, shifting, put a hand on her big belly, "Restless. Kicking my bladder and ribs so much that I think I've been to the WWE to wrestle with John Cena."

Chris laughed lightly and shifted his other hand to rub her belly. It worked like a charm, like it always did, the moment he spoke to the baby – it calmed. It liked his deep voice, clearly, "Hey in there fetus."

Fetus. Such a funny man. So up tight. To call a baby -fetus. It always made her laugh.

"Be good and be quiet. Give your incubator a break, would ya? Take a nap or something."

Rebecca patted his big arm, smiling lightly at him. "It likes your voice, I think. It always goes so still when you talk."

"Clearly a smart fetus, it knows the voice of command."

"Hmm. Maybe it's because you sound like a golden retriever talking or something. You grumble when you talk, low and gruff."

"Oh, yeah? You prefer Kennedy with that girly squeal of his huh?"

Rebecca laughed again, unoffended, "You sound jealous."

"Not jealous. I can sound like a girl too if I have you stomp on my testicles real hard."

She giggled lightly and squeezed his arm in a hug. "What an image. Some guys pay big money for girls to do that to them."

"…some guys pay big money for girls to take a dump on their chest too."

"….what?"

"Oh, yeah, it's a big thing I hear. What do they call that here? A shizer film or something? Or is that where the guy shits in the girl's mouth during sex? I can't remember."

She was watching him owlishly. He was just rambling. He did that when they were walking. The man of few words, he had plenty during their travels. He enjoyed talking to her. She was funny and soft and always making him feel relaxed.

Rebecca was quiet for a long moment.

Chris glanced down at her to see what she was thinking. Her face was pressed into his arm as she started shaking.

Afraid he'd disgusted her, he tried to backpedal a little, "I'm sorry. That…sorry. I forget sometimes you're not Jill. I have as much delicacy as a wet fart. I'm sorry, B. Seriously."

Rebecca shook her head now, and he realized she was laughing. She leaned back shaking with laughter, "I'm gonna take that as a compliment. A big one. Watch a lot of shizer films with, Jill, do you?"

Chris laughed now, unoffended. "Not a lot, no."

"But at least one huh?"

He managed to look sheepish and adorable and said, "No comment."

"….pretty gross, Redfield. And not usually what friends watch."

"In my defense, the person the film was a suspect we were tracking. And the film was a shizer/snuff film."

Rebecca stopped walking and stared at him. "…that's the most horrible thing I can think of."

"Right? Disgusting." Chris shuddered, "I've seen some horrible shit in my day. And nothing as bad as that. I'll take the undead any day of the week over a girl swallowing feces and then killing the guy who shat in her mouth."

Rebecca shuddered and made a sound, "Oh, god. This is the grossest conversation two people ever had. EVER."

Chris laughed and looped his arm around her shoulders, "True story there. Sorry. Again, I have no filter."

"I adore it, so I forgive you. Too many people treat me like I'm fragile and can't handle a good dirty convo. Par for the course when you perpetually look fifteen years old."

Pregnancy had made her softer, fuller, and utterly feminine. She looked like a woman well contented with her place in the world. Hard to do as a prisoner in a nightmare, but Rebecca did it with aplomb.

She didn't look fifteen. Truthfully, she looked beautiful in a way he'd never seen her before. He'd spent a long time overlooking her, which was true. It was easy enough to do when she worked so hard to be plain and simple. She blended, she hid, she didn't bother to dress up to attract your attention. It was easy to forget about her when she stood in the shadow of someone like Ada Wong or Jill because they were so very good at stealing the show.

Rebecca didn't bother to steal the show. She just sat back and let the show go on around her.

Her hair had grown out since they'd been here. It was a pretty little bob that curled and swirled around her chin. The twenty pounds of baby weight she was carrying was all belly and boobs. It was hard not to notice, in one hand, as he'd gone a long time without a woman.

The boobs were plush and perky. The belly was adorable and basketball cute on her tiny frame. Her butt was a little heart shaped treat in her stretchy pants she was always wearing.

Yeah…a LONG TIME since he'd had a woman.

He figured Leon Kennedy would poke his eyes out for even doing it now.

He'd never spent much time looking at her before this. For years, she'd been just another person in the fight against bioterror. In all truth, he wasn't a man who did a lot of looking anyway. Never had been. He was almost a joke in the community because he simply didn't look, didn't bother, didn't flirt, and didn't care. Girls LOVED working with him because he was such a eunuch.

Men speculated he was gay, blind, or retarded.

He didn't care. He never had.

But he'd come to look forward to their daily walks together a little too much. He was aware, entirely; he'd developed feelings for Leon's woman. It was there, like a dirty secret, in his chest. It was harmless as she wasn't interested or even aware. But he enjoyed her company and spent a good amount of nights thinking about her perky boobs.

Chris excused himself. He did. He was a prisoner. He had a pervert always breathing in his ear and trying to make him do depraved things at his command. He wasn't ready to think about the number whips he'd wielded or blood he'd spilled. He'd been able, so far, to avoid raping in Alesio's command. Clever use of pain to push aside the pleasure had spared more than one victim. If he picked up a whip, he saved them being raped.

Pain for pleasure.

It was the way they lived now.

The only pleasure he got was taking walks with Leon Kennedy's baby mama.

Lord.

She was telling some story about being a girl. She liked to tell him stories about growing up. He loved listening to her talk. Rebecca was so carefree about it. She just mentioned her family and her faith and her hopes and dreams in a way that left you enthralled. She simply didn't hide her feelings on anything.

She laughed. She loved. She was hope and light and feelings. She didn't let you hang around in the dark for long; she was always there with little things to make him laugh. For a man that didn't dwell in regret, she was the perfect friend. Because Rebecca was always pushing toward the future. If there was hope, she grabbed it with both hands and dragged it screaming with her to the finish.

A funny thing to find someone he had so much in common with that he'd known forever…and never really known at all.

She was telling a joke now about a cat and a dildo and something to do with farting. He was kinda listening. Kinda.

She tripped on something and he grabbed her arms to hold her up right.

Laughing, she lifted her head to him, "Can't fight the clumsy that comes with this big gut right? I look like a bus in this yellow shirt."

Her eyes were twinkling as she lifted her head to grin at him, "Fat as a house huh? I thought pregnant chics were supposed to glow and be beautiful. Pfft. I'm clumsy and fat and oily. Even this classic girl stuff I get wrong."

She giggled a little and realized, after a moment, he hadn't let go of her arms. "Chris? I'm ok, I promise."

After a moment, she realized he was looking at her mouth.

Something in her big belly tightened, and she murmured, "You ok?"

Her internal alarm said, "He wants to kiss you." Her brain said, "You kidding? This is Chris Redfield. THE HUMAN TANK. He doesn't kiss girls. And he doesn't kiss lab mice. You're being fat and lonely. You ever heard of him kissing girls?"

She tried to remember when she'd ever heard girls and Chris Redfield in the same sentence. The stupid Jessica Sherawat had gone around crowing and claiming she was going to screw him, of course, when she'd first come on board at the BSAA. But he'd shut her down so fast it had almost been comic.

Again her mind, queried, "What makes you think, after all this time, he's going to look at you like that? You spent years looking at him without a single return glance."

She'd always kind of assumed he was gay. He just, literally, never looked anyway. Rebecca thought maybe he was looking at Jill and that was why. Maybe he'd always had Jill and didn't bother to look elsewhere. It made sense. They were inseparable.

Hell, Rebecca had looked at him plenty in all these years. If he'd been interested, he'd have looked back long before now. She'd spent a lot of time with him lately. She'd looked a few times. Hard not to, she was in love with Leon Kennedy – not dead.

Scarred or not, Alesio had him keep in outstanding shape. He was muscled and hard and clean shaven – there was nothing Alesio hated worse than a beard. It was a good face atop all the muscles, always had been, handsome and full of beautiful features.

And, in fairness, they'd been trapped here together for a long time: there was no harm in looking.

Trying to make light of it again, Rebecca added, "I have food on my face? I'm always eating these days. Like a pig at a trough or something. Real pretty huh? Fat and covered in food. I'm a Fat Albert joke somehow. I probably should cut back on the fo—"

He tugged her a little into him and stole her breath. Her brain said, "SEE!? He's looking at you, you stupid girl. What now!?"

An interesting moment for her.

Part of her wanted to know what it was like to be kissed by a human tank.

Her fingers curled into his black silk shirt. Her eyes sorta fluttered closed. One half of her said, "What about Leon?" And the other half said, "You see him here?"

And then?

The baby in her belly decided it was time to come out.

There was no kissing anyone. Because she let out a cry and had him lowering to her to the ground.

There wasn't any time to go get Maria or the nurse on staff that Wesker had employed. Rebecca's body said PUSH. And she was jerking at her pants.

Chris Redfield, the Human Tank, the scourge of the undead, the ogre of the bioterrorism field looked like he might pass out in fear as Rebecca gasped, "Help! Help me? Please!"

And what did he do?

What Redfield's ALWAYS did, he rose to the moment. He snapped his focus back and helped her out of her pants. He put the blanket from their picnic blanket under her body and whipped off his shirt. Huffing and puffing through the worst pain she'd ever known, Rebecca was still very aware that it was a helluva show. He was HUGE, it was insane how muscled he was, who needed to be that big?

She gasped, "What do you bench?"

And had his brow quirking. He was poised between her legs while she puffed and gasped and grunted. It was, admittedly, pretty amusing for him.

But he laughed and answered her, "Three twenty if I'm feeling lazy."

Huffing, Rebecca laughed lightly, "Wuss. Deadlift?"

He grinned a little, shaking his head, "Four-fifteen. Why?"

"Lord. Why?" She went quiet as she puffed and breathed through a contraction. She grabbed his hands and squeezed. Her little face went tomato red.

Tough little thing, he thought, not a peep of pain.

And he answered her again, hoping to distract her, "The things we fight? Doesn't work if I'm skinny and weak, does it? I come up against a hunter; I need to be able to hurt it without a gun."

Rebecca finished breathing and eased her grip on his hands, "You gonna punch a hunter, big guy?"

He grinned, watching her and timing her contractions. "Why not? I should have punched that one that had you cornered in the office that first night."

"Lord," Rebecca laughed and huffed through another contraction. "That was cowardly for me, right? You big hero. I had the…biggest crush on you then. Baby faced, skinny kid that you were. Bet you didn't even know."

Chris held her hands as she huffed and puffed through another one. "Nope. Didn't know," He admitted, watching her sweaty face, "But it's a little late now, Chambers. You're squeezing out Kennedy's spawn here. You telling me I still have a chance?"

She laughed. She just laughed.

She kinda loved him.

And he said, "Ok. It's time for me to check your progress."

Her eyebrows winged up, "You delivered a baby before?"

Amused, Chris said, "I did paramedic ride alongs after Raccoon City. I don't like being unprepared for anything. Saw a few live births in the process."

He was something alright. Admittedly.

Rebecca quipped, shaking a little with pain, "You just want to put your hand between my legs."

And had him laughing. He grinned at her, eyes twinkling, "Not with Leon Kennedy's kid in the way, darling. I promise you. Not the most ideal way of putting my hand up a girl."

She was laughing while he checked her. Good man that he was, it was as medical as one could get.

And he said, "Baby's crowning, B. You ready?"

A few more huffs and gasping, a few more laughs – and Chris Redfield delivered her baby while she was laughing. Her daughter was born into the universe on laughter.

It was hard for a woman who believed in signs not to know that meant good things.

Gasping, shaking, Rebecca had asked, "How does she look?"

And he'd been holding her in his silk shirt. Small, sweet, she'd looked TINY against him. And, Rebecca was still convinced; he'd had tears in his eyes as he'd looked up at her and said, "Like a greasy turd…and beautiful. You have a daughter, Rebecca."

So, Chris Redfield became the man who'd delivered her baby and the first person to ever hold her.

Silver Lake, Montana – 2017

The first few weeks had been so humorous. The huge man and the tiny baby. He'd been a mess with her. Never tightening her diapers enough so that they fell off her when he'd pick her up.

Never wanting to hold her without supervision. "What if I crush her Rebecca!?"

And she answered, laughing, "She's a baby, not a bomb, Christopher. Just hold her."

He'd barely patted her to burp her. It was like he was afraid she'd snap in half. Rebecca had watched him try to figure out how to hold her, burp her, and not drop her. She'd stood there once and saw him carry a man on his back, shoot an assault rifle, throw a grenade, kick a bad guy, and manipulate a missile defense mechanism all at the same time – she'd never met anyone that could multitask like Chris Redfield.

But he couldn't figure out how to hold a tiny baby.

It was utterly fucking charming.

Rebecca stood watching him as the baby munched on his finger while he held her. He was talking to the house keeper. He was in a white t-shirt and jeans. A green hoodie was thrown over the chair beside him.

Rebecca moved into the kitchen, smiling a little, "What brings the Human Tank to the middle of nowhere?"

Amused, Chris turned to smile at her. Faith was gumming his knuckle to death.

He replied, easily, "I heard you inherited this place. I had to come see for myself. How you doin, B? Seriously."

She shrugged a little and moved to take the baby when she was sound asleep in his arms. Rebeca laid her in the seat again to snooze happily and they moved to the huge porch so Chris could light up a cigarette.

Sighing, Rebecca looked over the beautiful wide open horizon. "Surreal. It's all surreal. What the hell am I doing here, Chris? I don't know a damn thing about ranching. And I don't know what the hell he was thinking. What do I do with all this?"

Chris inhaled and watched her face. She'd lopped her hair off the moment they'd come back to civilization. It was pixie short again and left her pretty face unadorned. She wore no makeup, but in all the years he'd known her, he couldn't remember three times that she had anyway.

It was likely why her skin was so flawless after all this time. The freckles were cute and dusted over her nose.

They were echoed on the baby. He'd touched them on Faith's nose while he'd been holding her.

"I think he was thinking he loved you." The truth winced on her face, surprising him. A curious reaction. She didn't like knowing that, "And wanted you to be taken care of if something happened to him. He didn't know about Faith. But he knew about you, B. And this? This is how Leon Kennedy showed you what you meant to him."

A hard truth.

It hurt her to hear it.

Because she didn't want the house or the land or the legacy of him.

She wanted him.

And he was dead.

And she was lost.

She said, "I don't know how to do this all without him. I don't know how to do any of it. All the ways I thought this would end, I never thought I'd end up alone. He's Leon Kennedy, Chris. He doesn't die. He rises. But I'm the girl who got him killed. And now I get to stand here alone with his memory."

She leaned on the railing, watching the sun crest and shiver, offering a gold and orange spill across the horizon. The coming night loomed, pretty and peaceful.

And she said, softly, "I don't want to be alone. I don't want to do this alone. He came to save me and died, Chris. And I don't want his house. I want him. And he died on me. I'm alone. I don't want to be alone."

Lord.

Her voice quivered, hurting him.

Chris flicked the smoke off into the grass. He took her arm and turned her. She went, easily, never a girl to deny the comfort of it.

His arms wrapped around her and made her breath hitch.

And he said, quietly and with a purpose that steadied her, "You're not alone, B. Not now. Not ever. You have Faith. You have Claire. You have Jill. You're not alone."

Against his chest, she murmured, "What about you? Will you stay? For a little while, will you stay here? I don't think I can get up tomorrow and face his ghost. I can't. I'm not strong enough."

His hand lifted to stroke her hair. The ghost of Leon Kennedy was all over her. If you closed one eye, you could almost see him there like a shadow.

And Chris knew, in his guts, that he'd stay. He'd stay here. Because they'd stood together in the rain that day in Italy and Leon had asked him to take care of her. If anything happens, he'd said, take care of her for me.

So, he'd stay and help her until she was ready. Even - if the guilt of wanting her chased him around the huge mansion where the pain of failure lingered every time he thought of that little girl growing up without her father.

And the regret of being unable to save him rolled in his chest like heartburn that never ended.

He'd stay.

Because he might be a fool, but he'd never been a coward.

And he'd be damned if he ran away from the ghost of Leon Kennedy.


	3. Chapter 3

** Blackbird**

* * *

_"Things change. And friends leave. Life doesn't stop for anybody."_

_― Stephen Chbosky, The Perks of Being a Wallflower_

* * *

**Silver Lake Montana -Fall- 2017**

* * *

There were things about Chris Redfield that she'd forgotten.

One – he was a man who'd built an empire from a sketch and a concept. He'd built a goliath from ashes, anger, and iron will. He'd grown a corporation from the seeds of vengeance and justice that had created a legacy among the bioterrorism world.

Two – he was HANDS DOWN the best man around when it came to running a ranch.

The guy absolutely did not know how to fail.

If he didn't have the answers, he got them. He pounded them, persuaded, pulled or pushed them out of somewhere. He worked first with the staff and second with the ranch hands from sun up to sun down every day for three months.

Rebecca forgot at one point that he was there.

He left before dawn and came back at dusk.

He came through the doors filthy and exhausted.

She was happy to have dinner on the table for him. She felt inadequate honestly and awful about letting him do all the work.

But he never complained, never said a word. He'd eat, try to help with the dishes and get kicked out of the kitchen, and disappear upstairs to bathe.

She was nursing Faith in the big chair by the fire when he came down one night.

He started talking before he came around the chair to see her, "I'm getting the hang of ranching, I think. I gotta hand it to Kennedy, the guy had this place running like a machine. It's flawless. He knew his shit enough to leave it in good hands when he was gone. The place, honestly, could run itself, B. I'm not sure you need me here to work out the kinks. Not sure there are any kinks, honestly."

Chris emerged around the chair and froze.

There was a tiny bundle suckling her breast. You couldn't…really see anything. Really, you couldn't. Just little pink hands on her pale, plump breast and that tiny face nursing. It wasn't sexy.

It shouldn't have been sexy at all.

And yet he was kinda frozen there staring.

Rebecca smiled up at him, unconcerned, "Don't kid yourself, Redfield. I'm thrilled you're here. I don't know what I do with this place when you go. Do I just…let it run? Leon, was clearly so invested in this place, it seems wrong to not have anything to do with it. Will you teach me?"

His eyes were latched on her breast bobbling in that little mouth.

It was an entirely odd feeling to know he was kinda jealous of a nursing baby.

Her voice was filled with laughter a little as she said, "Chris? You hear me?"

His eyes volleyed up to her face.

Surely, Rebecca thought, it was a trick of the firelight. Or maybe the heat from his shower? Because it looked like he was blushing. Which was stupid. Chris Redfield didn't blush over a boob in a baby's mouth.

Surely not.

Rebecca tilted her head like a dog, watching his face.

He coughed and shook himself, charming the shit out of her. And his voice cracked, just a little, as he said, "Uh…yeah. Sure. Yep. Ollena said she'd be happy to keep Faith so I could show the ropes, so to speak."

Ollena was the housekeeper. She was a charming bustling woman in her fifties. She was like Mrs. Klaus with cookies and pies and rosy cheeks. She was a treasure.

Rebecca smiled sweetly, "You gonna "show me the ropes"? Rope some steers? Ride some bronco?"

Lips quirked, Chris chuckled a little, "You know it. Got a cowboy hat?"

"I'm sure I can dig one up."

"Awesome. Bright and early then?"

"I'll be there with spurs on, pah'tner."

Laughing, Chris wandered away from the fire. His mouth was dry. Nothing a little water wouldn't fix.

Although part of him wanted to wet his mouth with what that damn baby was currently enjoying.

The idea of it made him laugh, and adjust himself a little. Again, he told himself, nothing wrong with looking. There was plenty of times in his life he'd looked at something and not put his mouth on it. Plenty.

And he hadn't wanted to in a long time.

Rebecca stared at the firelight, watching the flames crackle and pop. There was likely a cowboy hat somewhere in the closet.

She had yet to tackle it.

She wasn't ready.

She knew what she'd find in there. Leon's things. Leon's hats. Leon's coats. Leon's shoes. Leon's memories.

She wasn't ready.

So, the closet stayed closed.

His guitar sat by the chair, untouched.

His pack of cigarettes sat on the table on the balcony, unsmoked.

His RPD lighter lay beside the pack, unlit.

His Jeep sat outside by the barn, undriven.

His daughter lay against Rebecca's breast, sleeping now, unknown.

And now the tears came to her eyes, unbidden.

God.

He'd never know her. She'd never know him. His laughter. His smile. It lingered behind her eyes every time she closed them. His smile.

The ache in her was nearly choking.

Some days she could barely get out of bed from it.

She'd roll over and wait to see him. But his side of the bed was empty.

She'd received an obligatory phone call from the new director of the DSO, Helena Harper. The condolences, the grievances, the flowers – endless and encompassing. The estate was full of them. Funeral flowers. Mums, gladiolas, endless arrays of lilies and daisies and death. DEATH.

She was sick of it. She was tired of the sad.

She just wanted to go to sleep and wake up and find him there, watching her. She couldn't remember the last time she'd kissed him. She tried.

Her brain just couldn't find the memory.

She went out onto the ranch with Chris.

He showed her the barn and how to tend the horses. They toured down by the steer and he showed her how to rope one. The ranch hands were so excited to meet her. They kept calling her "the missus".** God**.

It felt so wrong.

Chris was called to pull a calf around nine a.m.

Rebecca stood back while he put his arms inside of the panicking mother. He soothed her easily enough, speaking to her in those low tones of his. The mother mooed, calming but still nervous. Rebecca stepped up to pet her head, clicking her tongue a little.

The ranch hands were speaking quickly. Chris, in his white t-shirt, seemed at ease as he adjusted. His brow sprang with sweat and she watched every muscle in his arms rope and bulge.

Her belly liked it. It was a helluva show.

And he spoke, quietly but commandingly, "B? Can you come around behind me please?"

She did, quickly.

"Thanks. Now grab my biceps and anchor me ok? Put resistance on me and don't let me go forward."

"Ok."

"Thank you. Ready?"

"Yep." Rebecca gave him a thumbs up and slid her hands over his biceps. He braced, his arms bulged, and her belly tightened more. And he said, "Now. Pull!"

She pulled. He pulled. The cow lulled and mooed.

And the calf came free in a burst of fluid. It should have been gross or something.

But it was just awesome.

Just like that – they brought new life into the world. Rebecca laughed with delight and hugged him from behind. She kissed his stubbled cheek and had him smiling. Chris chuckled lightly, patting the rump of the mama cow to soothe her. She pranced a little with delight to be free of the big calf.

It was trying to stand up.

Rebecca giggled with such joy that he had to feel it with her.

She was just enraptured by it all.

She cooed at the calf and petted it when it wobbled over.

She laid her cheek on his shoulder, thrilled with the moment. Maybe, she thought, maybe ranching would be ok. Maybe it would be ok for her.

She made an easy dinner of fettucine and salad. They had so much to talk about. It thrilled him to see her so excited.

She hadn't smiled like that in so long. She was just enthusiastic and charming.

She fell asleep in the chair nursing the baby after dinner.

Chris hesitated, watching. She was in pink sweats from Victoria Secrets and a small white tank top. The top was tugged down to bare her breasts for the snoring baby on it. One hand was mounded up to her plump offering and the baby was drooling on her mother with contentment.

He considered leaving them there.

Instead, he picked up Faith and laid her in her bassinet in Rebecca's bedroom. He gathered the afghan blanket from the back of couch and covered Rebecca in the chair. He hesitated, decided not to be a coward, and tugged her top down over her breast.

Feeling like he should be given an award for altruism, Chris went upstairs to shower.

Hoping to give Rebecca a chance at a full night's sleep, he slipped on some sleeping pants and curled up in her bed to sleep close by in case Faith woke up in the middle of the night.

True to form, about two a.m. she awakened him fussing.

Chris picked her up and made her a bottle from the frozen breast milk Rebecca kept on hand from pumping. She took the whole bottle, burped like a champ, and proceeded to keep on fussing.

He rocked her, changed her, walked her. He patted her, rubbed her back, and tried laying her with him on the bed to settle. She was having none of it.

Finally, Chris said, "Ok. You little stinker. You think you're the first girl I couldn't woo to sleep? You've met your Aunt Claire. She was a monster."

He set Faith down in her bouncy seat and turned on the vibration feature. She fussed angrily, shaking her fists at him.

"Hang on there, small fry, give a guy a minute here." Chris picked up the guitar by the chair. There was no way he could have known it hadn't moved since the last time Leon Kennedy had played it, the night Rebecca Chambers had decided to keep him.

Chris sat down in the chair and tuned it. The moment the music came from it, the baby settled, watching his face raptly.

Mouth quirked in a half smile, Chris mused, "What do you like, hmm? Country? A little rock 'n roll? Claire was a stickler for the ballads. Shit…I haven't played one of these in years, so bear with me, ok?"

The baby was sucking her fist, watching him with rapture.

"You want a lullaby right? I think we'll try Claire's favorite. What do ya say?"

The baby gurgled, babbled,…and smiled.

Something in his chest just kinda…shifted a little. Coughing, chest tight and voice a little hoarse, Chris Redfield, the Human Tank, used Leon Kennedy's guitar to serenade his baby.

Blackbird singing in the dead of night

Take these broken wings and learn to fly

All your life

You were only waiting for this moment to arise

Rebecca froze outside in the hallway.

He'd picked up the guitar.

He was playing it. He was playing the Beatles for her baby.

And he could sing. His voice, a rich baritone, soothing and lilting. The voice he'd used to soothe his sister who'd been so sad and scared. The voice he used now to soothe a baby restless and tired.

Heart pounding, she leaned there by the door, listening.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these sunken eyes and learn to see_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to be free_

Rebecca pressed her palm to her racing heart, eyes closed, shaking a little. The tears spilled fast and warm down her cheeks.

_Blackbird singing in the dead of night_

_Take these broken wings and learn to fly_

_All your life_

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

Was she? Was she waiting for this moment? This one? This moment. The one that reminded her she wasn't dead.

Y_ou were only waiting for this moment to arise_

_That her baby wasn't alone. That she wasn't alone._

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise_

She turned a little, looking now into the room at them. The baby in the carrier. The man in the chair. Not the right man.

But not the wrong one either.

How to explain what was in her in this moment?

Chris glanced up as Rebecca moved into the room. He glanced down at the baby, smiled, and then at the guitar. She saw the moment he figured it out.

And then?

She saw the pain on his face. He shook his head and set it down. He let out a long breath and held out his hands to her, "I'm so sorry. I didn't…I'm so stupid. I used to play and sing for Claire after our parents died, ya know? I wasn't thinking. I shouldn't have touched it."

Rebecca shook her head, shaking, " I didn't know you could."

"It's been a long fucking time, that's for sure. I won't do it again. I'm so sorry. I was just trying to let you get some sleep."

He was covered in scars. His chest was a mess of them. His arms were striped with them. He turned a little to lay the guitar safely on the bed and she saw his back.

He was mounded in places with scars so ropey, so thick, she wondered if he had any feeling at all in the places they covered anymore. Her chest hurt looking at him. She made a small sound of pain.

Had they both lost everything in that castle?

Faith babbled and giggled in her seat. She grinned toothlessly.

No, Rebecca thought, not everything.

She breathed, hitching, "You sang Blackbird for your sister. When your parents died. To help her sleep. The Human Tank."

He laughed a little, red cheeked. "I'm a limited talent, I'm afraid. Not like K-"

He stopped. He froze.

He tried to back pedal.

But Rebecca laughed wetly, "No. It's ok. Not like Leon Kennedy. Right? The Executioner. The Executioner and his guitar. Jesus. God."

She put her fist to her belly and hunched just a little with it.

Chris, looking guilty and raw, started to get up, "B – don't. Don't cry. I didn't even think about it being his guitar. I never should have touched it. I'm so sorry."

The Human Tank held it his hands like...what?

Like Leon Kennedy's blood was all over them?

Didn't he realize yet that it wasn't? He'd saved her in that castle. He'd saved her baby.

Leon Kennedy's blood wasn't on his hands...it was on hers. She was bathed in it. Cloaked in it. Mired in it.

Drowining in it.

Rebecca shook her head again, she moved forward and went to her knees. She slipped between his arms and looped hers around his waist, clinging.

Surprised, Chris looped back, holding her.

And Rebecca whispered, "I was afraid there'd never be music in this house again. I was afraid she'd never hear it or know it. I can't sing. I can play piano, but I can't sing. I was afraid, she'd never hear it. He'd want her to hear it , Chris. I'm so glad you're here. I was afraid that his guitar would sit there forever…unplayed. It's…it's wrong of me to let his things go untouched. It's wrong to let them go unloved. It's wrong to let his life go unfinished. It's not what he'd want. It's not what he was about. Help me give the music to her, Chris. It's what he'd want. Help me give her at least that part of him."

Jesus.

He put his face against her neck, holding on. Such a sad request. Such a simple request. She was no Jill. She was no Claire. She wasn't afraid to ask for help.

And he wanted to give her anything she needed. Because he'd stood in the rain and promised.

And he was a man that never broke his promises.

Against her neck, he murmured, "Whatever you need, B. Whatever you want. I'm here for you."

Her hands stroked his back, skimming over his scars. She clung harder, stealing his breath with the force of it. She kissed his ear, and the place behind it, "….so much pain…in this house…in us. So much pain. What's under the pain, Chris? What's under it? I don't know if I can feel anything but the pain. Can you?"

Her hands stroked over his back harder now, down his side, along his hip. His breath hitched. Her mouth kissed along his jaw, under it. She could feel his pulse hammering against her lips.

Hoarsely, he answered, "Some of it's pain…some of it's numb…some of it's tender still…"

She kissed his Adam's apple and it bobbled, desperately. She kissed the scars that laced over his collarbone and the top of his left shoulder. There were three burns in a row that looked like cigar tips above his left nipple. Rebecca skimmed those with her fingers, bringing his breath in a hitched breath.

The spill of rage for him was blended in the pain. "You let him torture you. All that time. Why?"

He was so quiet, the man of few words. And finally, she realized he wasn't going to answer.

But Faith giggled.

And that was answer enough.

Rebecca watched the baby. Every time he spoke, she smiled. Every time he grumbled, Faith blubbered. A conversation with the man in her life, no doubt. Was he aware? Rebecca was, painfully.

She pressed a kiss to those scars above his heart, and whispered, "Feel anything?"

He whispered back, "Yeah. Plenty."

"Yeah?" Her fingers skimmed and goosebumps popped all over his skin. She laid her palm completely over his pectoral, feeling his heartbeat beyond her fingers. That wasn't pain, she thought, that was pleasure. Pleasure at being alive.

His hands gripped at the arms of the chair where he sat, shaking. He wanted to touch her. But the guilt held him back.

Guilt.

Guilt at being in Kennedy's chair.

Guilt at playing Kennedy's guitar.

Guilt at loving Kennedy's baby.

Guilt…at wanting Leon Kennedy's woman.

Jesus.

He rose, knees weak, and slid away from her touching hands. Rebecca let him, watching him. They were both trembling. They were both flushed now.

There was no blaming the fire light. There was no blaming the shower.

They were both warm with blood and need.

Gruffly, Chris intoned, "I'll let you get some rack. You gotta be exhausted. Long day huh?"

Rebecca stayed sitting on the floor where he'd left her. She said nothing. He was beating a hasty retreat, no lie there, but he didn't want to put the moves on a grieving widow during a moment of weakness. He'd promised to take care of her, not take advantage of her.

She heard him close his room door quietly.

She stayed on the floor, breathing slow and long. The baby was awake again, watching her.

Rebecca rolled her head, watching those owlish blue orbs. She whispered, "What?"

The baby gurgled and grinned around her gums. Rebecca smiled back, charmed, "You little stinker. You watching us?"

The baby cooed happily.

"You little voyeur. Like the show?"

Rebecca slid her fingers down the strings of the guitar in front of her.

The little inscription drew her eye. The Executioner has named his trusty guitar. He'd christened it...

Out loud, she whispered, "Excalibur."

The sword of heroes. The sword of legend. Passed down from one...to another. From one legend to the other.

As if Chris Redfield has pulled it from the stone to pick up the fight.

She'd thought the music had died with Leon Kennedy.

She brushed a finger over Faith's soft cheek, breathing softly.

She thought she'd died with Leon Kennedy.

But she could feel her heart.

And it was beating.

And sang under her breath, off key but full of feeling…

_You were only waiting for this moment to arise…_


	4. Chapter 4

**A Matter of Muffins**

* * *

_" He liked her; it was as simple as that."_

_― Nicholas Sparks, The Last Song_

* * *

**Silver Lake Montana -Fall -2017**

* * *

The winter said a big fuck you to late fall and came hard and brutal and early.

It snowed and buried the ranch in white from lake to larder. It left the hands with plenty of winterization undone and a surprisingly heavy blanket of white on Thanksgiving morning. Unexpected, they spent a good portion of the holiday morning undigging from the mess it had made.

The fall was lost under the promise of a nasty winter.

Rebecca spent the morning in the barn settling the horses and prepping the area for the early arrival of the massive cold front.

She wondered what kind of Thanksgiving would really be occurring in a foot of snow.

Amused, she knocked off her boots as she came back in the house.

Claire was feeding Faith.

She was in her highchair and learning to eat rice. She was eight months old and learning her way in the world. She was cruising by crawling, cruising by grabbing things to pull herself up and around. She could find her favorite toys and fling her most hated across the room while she laughed.

Rebecca figured she'd be walking soon enough.

And then?

God help them all.

Claire had come up to stay for a few weeks on a break from work. She was enjoyable, as always, and a master of making things easier on everyone around her. She was effortless with the baby, a natural nurturer in her bones. Rebecca wondered if it came from having a brother who'd sung to her and taken up the charge of raising her after their parents had died.

One thing was true, Claire Redfield had been loved.

It was evident in her demeanor. She was a woman who knew her place in the world. She was content there. Maybe it was lonely, as Claire was still unmarried, but she didn't seem lonely.

She seemed happy.

They were rolling the ball with Faith in the living and Rebecca remarked, quietly, "Did you spend much time here with him?"

Claire smiled gently, rolling the bright pink musical ball back to Faith who chortled with glee to catch it. "Plenty. He was good here. The rare times you could catch him off work and free of it all. He was happy here. I'm glad you stayed, Bec. I am. He would have wanted that."

Rebecca watched her face, curious. "You loved him."

"I did. He was hard to hold but easy to love." Claire smiled again, but there wasn't pain there, just peace, "He was so lost before you found him, Rebecca. Whatever he needed? You offered it to him. For the first time in a long time, he was content."

Rebecca rolled the ball to Faith. She giggled and babbled.

And Rebecca said, quietly, "I miss him."

Claire's smile cracked, just a little. She made a small sound like a wet laugh and wiped a hand at her nose. Both women laughed, misty-eyed. And Claire replied, "That won't change. I think it's just part of loving Leon Kennedy. You'll miss him forever. The only thing we can hope? Is that it gets just a little easier to live with it."

"Any idea of what makes it easier?"

The baby laughed brightly.

Rebecca rolled her head to see why.

And Chris was coming in from the cold.

Maybe that was one way it was a little easier.

She forgot, for spaces of time, to grieve when he was there. It was hard to grieve when he was making you laugh. He was good at that. He'd been good at it in captivity. Never a man that dwelled, he didn't let you dwell either. He wasn't built that way.

He played the guitar and sang for the baby. He kept the music in her life like Rebecca had asked. He was good at that too: doing exactly as she asked.

Rebecca was surprised to find sometimes she wished he'd play for her too.

He was VERY careful to avoid touching her.

He went out of his way to be sure they barely brushed. She hadn't even glimpsed him shirtless since that night. Her brain tried to do the math.

Two months.

It had been two months since that night.

Five total since she'd moved into the house and taken over the ranch.

And how long since she'd held Leon Kennedy in her arms? Over a year now. Easily. She'd missed him long before he'd died.

Time was flying.

She turned her head to see if Leon Kennedy was still sitting on her shoulder. He was there. He was always there. She missed him.

She didn't want to see him anymore.

Sometimes, at night, she'd wander around the big house and down to the lake. She'd ride one of his horses through the fields. She'd ride over to the training ground that stood empty.

She could feel him. Everywhere.

Anywhere.

He was in the walls and the wind and the water.

He wasn't anywhere.

Somedays, she couldn't feel him at all. And she panicked. She chased his ghost-like she'd catch him. As if she'd ever caught him alive.

As if in death she'd finally hold on to him.

Chris knelt to take a slobbery blabbery kiss from the baby. Faith grabbed his ears and slobbered all over his face while she blah blahed at him nonsensically.

Claire shifted, watching them.

What was this?

Curious, she studied her brother as he picked the baby up in his arms. She cooed and kissed him, giggling and smooching. Whatever else was weird in his house, this wasn't. This was love. It was in every wet plop of baby lips and every laugh of her big, angry, boulder punching brother.

But he wasn't angry here.

He was…what?

Claire considered him.

He was what?

Content?

He was something. The baby loved him. And he loved the baby. That was as obvious as the pain on Rebecca Chambers. There was no hiding it.

Claire smiled, happy to see him with the baby. He'd lost his chance to have children. He was forty-one and considered himself passed his prime in that regard. He wasn't. But he'd never, ever, been interested in having children.

But she watched him with that baby.

And she amended that statement.

Maybe he'd just never, ever thought seriously about having any of them.

A dedicated man – the fight had risen in Raccoon City when he'd been barely twenty-five. He'd been fighting ever since. What time was there in any of their lives for babies?

She glanced at Rebecca and lifted her brows.

Because the girl scientist was watching him.

Watching was the wrong word here. What was the right one?

Claire did the math in her head and knew Rebecca was at least seven years younger. It didn't matter anymore at their ages. But it had in Raccoon City. She and Rebecca were of an age after all. She remembered Rebecca gushing with a girl crush on her brother all those years ago.

Harmless.

Normal.

And lost in the sands of time.

Or maybe not.

Rebecca rolled to the side to clean up toys.

Chris shifted his attention from the baby for just a moment. Just a second. Claire watched his face.

And he looked at Rebecca while she wasn't looking at him.

Just a handful of seconds.

But she'd been looking at her brother for thirty-five years. She knew what flashed on it before he glanced back at the baby.

Chris had the hots for the former medic.

Like Sherlock, Claire watched them the rest of the afternoon. Neither did anything overt. There was nothing even to the naked eye.

Just Rebecca watching him while he did mundane tasks like bail hay or lift boxes. Just Rebecca watching his arms and his face and his butt.

Oh, yeah, Claire mused. She was butt watching. Not bird watching, uh-uh, the girl scientist wasn't keeping a rapt eye on the blue-throated swallow…nope. She was oogling Chris Redfield's tail feathers.

Delighted and amused, figuring the world's greatest flirt Leon Kennedy was somewhere amused himself, Claire waited until Rebecca took the baby upstairs for her nap and to take a bath.

And she said, tongue in cheek, "Hey, bro. How's the rancher's life?"

Chris laughed, plucking a beer from the fridge, "Somehow I'm more tired now than I was chasing Majini through the African desert. Explain that to me."

Claire smirked a little, "The scenery helps, I'm sure."

"Yeah. It's pretty here. Better than a dirty fucking city, anyway. Kennedy had an eye for a good piece of land, that's for sure."

Amused, eyes twinkling, Claire grinned, "Yeah, he did. Leon liked a nice piece."

"You talking about his fucking gun room? You been in there? Dude had like…fifty pistols. Insane."

Claire rolled her lips a little. "Hmm. He had good taste in clothes. In guns. In land…"

Chris nodded, kicking up his bare feet after taking off his boots with a sigh of relief.

And Claire added, "…in women. Piece of clothing, piece of land, a nice piece, a piece of ass…he had a good eye for all of it."

Chris paused with his beer to his mouth, brow lifted, "Your point?"

"You eyeballin his baby mama?"

The beer hesitated, Chris finally snorted and took a long pull. "No."

That was it.

One word.

He rose and slapped her boots off the table so her chair wobbled and nearly went over. She grinned, unaffected.

And Chris said, "Go to sleep, CB. Seriously. Before you start matchmaking in that pretty head of yours. I'll see you in the morning."

He left the kitchen.

And Claire remained at the table, chuckling, and convinced her brother was a big fat liar. She glanced at the window that was frosted with snow.

What would Leon want here?

Easy enough to answer that. He'd always, always, always been so desperately searching for happiness. He'd want Rebecca to find it.

With Chris? A curious question.

Claire sat at the table with the leftover turkey, twirling her keys...and matchmaking in her pretty head.

Aloud, she said, "Leon Kennedy, you clever, mother fucking genius. You know what you were doing...I fucking miss you. You asshole."

He didn't answer. But he was there.

She never went a day without him anyway.

Chris was lying in his bed, staring up the shadows above it. He was shirtless and scratching his belly. He was pretty sure he was going to be sticking his hand in his pants and rubbing one out in a minute.

He was a guy. He understood and addressed his needs when they arose.

He'd been feeding himself, breathing, farting and shitting and fucking for forty years. He knew how to address what his body wanted. Usually, when his nuts decided they wanted to get off on a willing woman, he was in a place to do that though.

Here, he was surrounded by women.

One was his sister.

One was a baby.

One was Leon Kennedy's.

So…there wasn't any hope for a willing woman in this house.

His hand slid down to take care of the need and he heard the sounds from the other bedroom.

Listening, pausing, he heard the low cursing. Rebecca – cursing like a sailor in her little voice. His brows winged up. Somehow, she managed to make "piss ass shithole fuck nuts", sound cute.

Only her.

Amused, Chris rolled to his feet and peeped across the hall.

Her door was cracked. He could just make out her pacing beyond it.

He threw on a ribbed undershirt and crossed the hall to knock. He heard her curse, mutter, and pull open the door.

She was in a gray t-shirt and little blue bootie shorts. The gray shirt was V-neck, looked soft, and was so snug it was stretched across her breasts like an obscene wet dream. You could, essentially, see her nipples through the thin cloth.

He focused, hard, on her face to be sure he didn't look.

But he looked enough to know she wasn't wearing a bra.

And he queried, "Everything ok?"

Rebecca sighed dramatically and opened the door to let him in. She stalked away and missed the whoosh of relieved air that escaped his lungs. He'd, literally, been holding his breath while she'd been standing there that close to him.

"Not really. I'm fine I guess. Just…" She shifted and spread her arms to show the clothes tossed all over the bed and floor.

Chris lifted a brow at her.

She laughed, mirthlessly, "I'm fat."

And both brows winged up now.

She laughed again, "I'm fat. I am. Still. They said breastfeeding would get the weight off. But I'm still holding on to twenty pounds, easily. I'm so fat I can't get in my pants."

She gestured, looking frustrated. "I know I've been lazy. I haven't really been exercising or anything. I guess I hoped the weight would fall off with the breastfeeding. But I got on the scale this morning?"

She sighed and kicked a pair of pants on the floor angrily, "One seventeen."

Horrified, she met his eyes, "One seventeen, Chris. I haven't weighed more than ninety-five pounds in thirty plus years. I can't get rid of the weight! I'm trying to put on my pants right? I can't. I'm too fat!"

His mouth twitched.

He lifted his hand to brush it over his mouth to hide the smile. He coughed a little. "One seventeen huh?"

"I know." She sighed, kicking the pile of shirts, "I can't even put on my size zero pants. I tried. MUFFIN TOP!"

She shouted it and had him jumping.

He blinked.

And she squeaked, "Muffin top! Can you believe that shit!?"

"...is that a band or something?"

She blinked at him.

He added, "...or a dessert? Like burnt ends on ribs right?"

She narrowed her eyes to see if he was joking. He was so deadpan.

"It means blubber gut, Redfield. It means the fat that spills over your pants when you latch them."

He coughed again, face droll, "Hmm. This is a real thing? Like "the thigh gap" or something? Or is it like...metrosexual men? You know, made up words for guys who can't admit to being gay."

"...do you know any girls at all?"

Chris laughed now, bulletproof, "Not generally the kind that worries about muffin butt. Hard to care ass deep in bullets and blood, B. I could ask Nadia when I see her next. But I don't think she has muffin butt, B. She works out like...eight days a week. That girl is more muscled than I am."

"...it's Muffin TOP, Chris Redfield!" She pointed at him now, "Don't you stand there being charming, good sir! You know what it is!"

She sounded adorable saying shit in that tone. He tried not to be charmed. He did. But he failed.

He could not stop teasing her, "Sorry, Becs. I don't. Muffinstop sounds like a gas station...that I would probably go to every morning. Or is it one of those Shopkins? Somebody's kid had some at the office one day. Tiny little food things? I think one was a muffin...maybe. Or a cupcake? I can't remember."

Her voice was exasperated but her eyes were twinkling at him, "...muffin TOP, you big goof! Muffin TOP!"

She lifted the gray t-shirt. Her shorts were…well…she was right about the tight part. But not in a bad way. Nope. They were snug in all the right ways. There was no muffin top, he mused, there were just her soft but flat little belly and a teeny little roll of skin.

She looked so distraught.

He didn't want to laugh at her.

He was trying SO HARD.

She waved her hands around a little. "I'm being stupid right? Because some girls can't ever lose it. And that's just the way it is. And I'm being shallow and dumb. I have a healthy baby. I don't really have any stretch marks…I don't think!"

She shouted again and had him jumping.

"Maybe I do, ya know? How do I KNOW!? No one has checked my butt. I heard you get them on your BUTT. Can you believe that?"

He was kinda afraid she was going to drop her pants and show him her butt to check it. He did NOT think he'd survive that.

Rebecca mused, "You think I'm fat too huh? It's why you're so quiet."

Tongue in cheek, he answered, "Do I?"

"You do! What do you weigh? Like one-eighty? All corrugated muscle and tight skin. What do you know?"

She was a scientist. She couldn't be that bad with math. Curious, he arched a brow. She arched it back. They studied each other.

One-eighty...what a goof she was. Kennedy, before he'd lost it all, had probably maybe weighed one-eighty...and that was doubtful since he'd been skinny even before the rehab.

Shrugging, finally, Chris moved to her little scale on the floor of her bathroom.

He stepped on it, waiting.

It beeped happily.

Rebecca's brows winged up. "Wow."

"Yep."

"Shit. I wouldn't have guessed."

"B – at my height, with my muscle mass, if I weighed one-eighty, I'd look like a stick." He stepped off the scale with a shrug, "Your body? It's feeding a baby. It's got extra fat on it to make milk. You don't look fat. You look beautiful. You look like a mother. You're a mother, B. It looks good on you. Stop trying to be a skinny little lab mouse, and just be a mother."

Rebecca was still confounded a little, "Two-twenty huh?"

"On a good day. I have a tendency to push higher when I up the protein. But go easy on yourself, ok? I got a hundred pounds on you, easily."

He patted her little butt as he walked by her to leave the room.

He hadn't really meant to. It was a habit. Like comforting a teammate or something.

Pat, pat, pat.

Thoughtless.

He kinda froze. She kinda did too.

And she whispered, softly, "You don't think I'm fat?"

Quiet, a little strained, "….no." Firm.

It was firm.

So was he.

He was firm.

Rebecca said, "Thanks, Chris. Sorry, I woke you up."

"…nope. No problem."

It would have been ok, probably. No harm, no foul. But she hugged him.

He tried to stop her. He grabbed her arms and said, "Wait wait wait…"

Too late. She hugged him.

And, well, he was firm.

He was also a foot taller than her. So he poked her right in her "fat" belly as she hugged him. Lord.

The blood in his face made him dizzy. The silence spilled around them.

And he whispered, gruffly, "…sorry. I tried to warn you."

Rebecca let go of him. He let go of her arms.

Without a word, he left the room.

When he was gone, Rebecca looked at her face in the mirror of her vanity. She wasn't flushed. A curious thing. He had been. Embarrassed. Guilty. Shameful.

He was all three.

It was curious that she wasn't.

She ran her fingers over the strings on the guitar by the chair. It tinkled musically.

And she breathed, softly, "You were only waiting…for this moment to arise…"

Well, his "moment" had arisen alright. She brushed her fingers against Excalibur again, sighing.

Oh, she was a little shivery in her belly.

She opened her bedroom door. She went to his and knocked.

But she needn't have bothered. He wasn't in there anyway.

She heard the Jeep fire up.

Leon's Jeep.

Her heart hammered, her breath caught. She ran to the window. And there was Chris Redfield surging off through the snow in Leon's Jeep.

Where was he going?

But she knew that too.

He was going to the training ground. He was going to fight his demons like Leon had done so many times before. He was going to punish himself for his "moment". For theirs.

She glanced at the photo on her dresser. A good one. It was Leon curled in his chair, Leon with his guitar, Leon with his Magnum sitting on the floor beside him.

Leon...laughing.

A good photo.

She brushed her finger over his face. She closed her eyes.

She couldn't hear him.

But he was still there, on her shoulder, watching her.

While Chris Redfield battled his regret in the training ground he'd left behind.

She sat in the shadows, smoking.

She sat in the shadows, watching.

She'd watched Leon battle his demons there. She knew it was cathartic. It was a way to purge the urge.

What was the urge?

The urge to what?

Let go?

Or hold on?

And how did they find their way to the answer?

She didn't know. She didn't know anything.

So she sat in the shadows, watching Chris Redfield fight his demons.

And hers continued to gather around her, waiting.


	5. Chapter 5

**A New Year**

* * *

_"A Girl Doesn't Need Anyone Who Doesn't Need Her."_

_-Marilyn Monroe_

* * *

**Silver Lake Montana -Winter -2017**

* * *

Leon Kennedy had been big on Christmas.

The ranch had standing orders to light up and decorate it from one end to the other. They, often now, checked with Chris or Rebecca to clarify orders in lieu of other options. But this one? This one was clear.

Ho-Ho-Hold your horses. He had them string lights and spread cheer and leave no bush or tree unadorned. The snow, the lights, the twinkles and the jingles and the bells and merriment.

You had to stand out in the cold, breathing frigid air, and delight in it.

There was no way not to.

A broody man by nature, he'd still loved the Holidays.

And the Ranch.

And the element of surprise, clearly. What had he said that day on the training ground? The only thing I have, Rebecca, is the knowledge that my enemy doesn't know I'm coming.

Ada Wong had seen him coming. Ada Wong had seen him naked. Ada Wong had seen him dead.

The rage of that? It was an ugly red pall on the holidays he'd loved so much. She was hoping, somewhere, that Ada Wong was rotting in hell. It was RED in hell. That faithless bitch would like that. Red was her signature color after. She'd died BATHED in it.

A bullet in the heart for Leon Kennedy. A bullet in the throat for that bitch in red. A fitting end.

She sat at the table with the gift still wrapped there on the surface before her.

He'd had a gift left for her.

To be opened on Christmas in the event of his death.

Manny had brought it to her early that morning while she'd been nursing Faith. Faith was trying to take over the world right now and never left a dull moment in her wake. She was currently crawling around the living room and finding every piece of dust or schmootze available to attempt to cram in her mouth.

The gift was just sitting there now, waiting. Watching her. Waiting.

Like a bomb.

Or a dead body.

Or decoding DNA to mRNA to tRNA to Amino Acid…or something.

Laughing lightly, she poked the box.

It was brightly wrapped in green, red, gold and silver.

Would it self-destruct in five seconds after she viewed its contents?

Was his head in there? Like Seven?

A horrifying thought.

Amused at her own reluctance, she undid the bow and opened the box. A small tablet was inside and a little gold jewelry box.

Her hammering, she picked up the tablet and clicked the button to turn it on.

It shimmered, it winked, and it killed her where she sat.

Because there he was.

He was grinning, he was so fucking handsome, his face…it hurt her to see him. She felt her breath hitch and her eyes fill. And then it got worse.

Because he spoke, "So creepy right? The reaching out beyond the dead thing? Utter creepfest."

And she answered, softly, "Just a little bit."

"For the record, I'm aware this is totally fucking weird. But you've met me, ever known me to be conventional?"

Again, she answered, "Not in recent memory."

"This sounds utterly off the wall here, but you're currently outside getting our stuff ready to head on out to Italy on this cluster fuck of a mission you've roped me into and I gotta tell ya…I'm feeling like this is the right time to do this. Rebecca…open the box…inside the box." And now he grinned, amused, "A box in a box. Is it full of socks? Or rocks? Romance by Dr. Seuss."

He was always saying that. Romance by Dr. Seuss. Love by Dr. Seuss. Death by Dr. Seuss. Puns and rhyming and music. What a man he was.

…had been.

No longer was.

Her breath hitched harder, settling into a steady gasp of pain.

"It's full of faith, Rebecca. The kind you've given me. The kind I think you need now." He shifted and the humor left him. His perfect profile stared off into the distance for a moment, "If you have this, if you're watching it, it means somebody finally got me. It's math, kid, in one hand. How many times can I go in, unarmed, outmatched, and on the losing side and win? Eventually? I had to draw the short straw huh?"

He laughed lightly, "Weird. Entirely. To talk about myself like I'm dead. But I must be." His gaze moved back to the camera, "And you aren't. You lived. You're there. And you gave me the only hope I've had in…shit…in years I guess. I can't ever give that back…but I can give you this."

She picked up the little jewelry box, staring at it.

And Leon said, "Take the faith, Rebecca. And the ranch, which was always my only hope. Take them. Love them. Like you loved me. Freely. Completely. And find your strength to do this. I know you can. I never, in my life, met anyone stronger. Don't miss me, celebrate me, celebrate the season…Merry Christmas, Rebecca Chambers, I hope the ghosts of Christmas past don't overshadow your future."

No, I love you.

Even there.

Even now.

No, I love you.

Always such a complex man.

On the screen, he was smoking. He laughed, winking, "Smoking will kill you. Bacon will kill you. But smoking bacon will cure it...bum psh."

And so his final words to her? A pun. Lord. LORD.

No, I love you. Just a pun.

She opened the little gold box and inside was the crucifix. Simple, elegant, gold – and inscribed with a single word: Faith.

He hadn't known about her. Not about their daughter. She hadn't even existed yet…not in a way that impacted them.

But she was there.

Even then…she was there. She was the thing that bound them. The thing that braced them. The thing that saved them. Faith.

And she'd been afraid hers had died with him.

But it was there, in that little box, and on that little tablet.

And he'd given it back to her when she needed it most.

Outside, the first of the caroling had begun.

Rebecca whispered, softly, "You've been waiting for this moment to arise..."

The moment Leon Kennedy gave her the faith to start letting him go.

The lights of Christmas had reached the training ground.

They were looped over the hollowed out carcass of the VW bug. They were curled around the crumbling building with the sniper nest that waited to be cleared. They were on the dumbies that took hits and kept coming back for more.

They made a playground of death...adorable. They twinkled. They winked. They were red and green and in time with the music.

The music of the holidays swirled around the smoke and bustle of the place where a warrior came to train.

Chris stood in the center, surrounded by snow and the stench of burning destruction. The smoldering ruins of the building he'd just torched was punctuated by the bright burst of LED icicles. Jaw clenched, he puffed on the cigarette in his hand and fumed.

Kennedy.

What a dumb ass.

What kind of bad ass agent had his training ground decorated in twinkling lights and laughter?

What a doofus.

Against his better judgment, Chris was charmed by it.

He could see the ghost of the former rookie swirling above the pretty pattern of flashing bulbs. He could almost HEAR the puns.

He should train, he really should.

Instead? He stood among the singing and laughter of the ranch hands in the distance and felt like the Grinch.

Down below him, in Whoville, the merriment went on anyway. There was no Leon Kennedy. But he was still here.

Spreading his joy even when there was nothing but ashes.

Chris inhaled on the cigarette, and couldn't stop the smile.

And he toasted the ghost of Christmas past. And he toasted that Christmas ass that was Leon Kennedy. And he laughed.

Because even in death that mother fucker was the smartest dude around. He knew EXACTLY what they'd need without him.

Every night, in the quiet moonlight, Blackbird to a restless baby.

Every night, in the quiet bedroom, Rebecca lay in a restless tangle of sheets.

She listened to him sing. She listened to the baby giggle and coo. She listened to the clock on the wall.

She rubbed the crucifix in her hand.

She was restless with need.

She was restless for a sign.

She heard him laugh. Her mouth curved without realizing it.

It was always like that. She was always smiling when he was there. When he was close.

She kept her eyes on the closed closet door. She hadn't opened it yet. She wasn't ready.

Every night, in the quiet moonlight, Blackbird to a restless baby.

And a restless lab mouse with a fractured heart.

She lay in the dark smiling, listening to him sing, and rubbing the cross around her neck.

On Christmas Eve, beneath the big tree they'd cut and put up and decorated, Faith took her first steps.

Rebecca shouted in joy. Claire filmed the whole thing on her phone.

And the little thing that she was waddled right passed her mama and into the arms of the Human Tank.

He laughed. It echoed. He caught her and tossed her while she giggled.

Claire felt her belly warm and shiver. She glanced at the frosty window like she could see Leon there, watching. She winked a little and felt like, just maybe, he winked back.

And then?

That little girl put a sloppy kiss on Chris' laughing mouth and exclaimed, "Mmm! DADA!"

So, it was likely just sounds. Just sounds by a happy babbling baby.

But it made Rebecca freeze and grab Claire's hand...and squeeze so hard.

And Chris?

That big squish put his face on her little belly to make her squeal and giggle...but Claire was pretty sure she saw his big blue eyes get misty.

The only thing she knew? Hers sure did.

Chris thought, there was no Grinch here in this house. But there was a heart...and it swelled three sizes too big for his chest.

And he stayed up with that little girl long after the lights had died and the silence permeated the sleepy house.

They fell asleep in the big chair by the fire with the Night Before Christmas open on his lap as he'd read to her. She was tucked against him, sucking her thumb. Her hand curled into his shirt, her drooling face pressed against his chest.

And his cheek laid gently on the top of her head.

Rebecca stood in the firelight, watching them. Such a big man. He'd spent so long fighting. Was this what happened when he stopped fighting?

So often she listened to him read reports to the baby while he cooked or did dishes. Long, horribly boring, lectures and reels of information regarding B.O.W.'s and pre-exposure inoculation strategies for mass conversion in large scale assault areas.

Her eyes would cross with boredom. But Faith was enraptured. Just like when she'd been in the belly, she was always so quiet when he talked. She'd watched, owl-eyed and happy, sucking her fist and grinning.

Faith was in love with Chris Redfield. The baby. She was in love with the Human Tank.

Rebecca leaned in the firelight watching them. Sometimes it was clear that babies were better judges of character than grown-ups. The baby saw a softness in the battle-hardened bad ass that the rest of the world missed or ignored.

Rebecca only knew one thing: she'd never felt alone since he'd started living there. Ever. Not once. Even when he was gone for work. Because he always came back. Always.

And when he was gone?

She missed him. They both did: the baby and the lab mouse. They both missed The Human Tank.

And it was the first time she didn't feel the pain of missing Leon Kennedy.

It was the first time she didn't feel Leon there at all.

When Faith was asleep, Rebecca looked about her bedroom for Excalibur. It was missing from its spot on the floor where she kept it.

She heard it as she stood on the balcony, in the cold, smoking Leon Kennedy's cigarettes and using his lighter.

She heard it strum. She heard it.

_Do you remember me?_

_I sat upon your knee_

_I wrote to you with childhood fantasies_

Her heart swelled. It crested. She puffed on the smoke, watching the snow fall.

_Well I'm all grown up now_

_and still need help somehow_

_I'm not a child but my heart still can dream._

_So here's my lifelong wish_

_My grown-up Christmas List_

_Not for myself, but for a world in need_

She tossed aside the smoke. She breathed. She moved to his door and put her forehead against it, listening. Outside, the lights twinkled and the laughter spilled from the party down in the barn. They'd gone. They'd laughed. They'd danced and enjoyed and celebrated.

And inside that room where he sat, strumming that guitar and singing, she heard the grief that swirled in her chest and was answered in his. For her, it was Leon Kennedy. The pain of it. The loss of it. The failure to let go.

For him?

It was everything he'd lost inside that castle. Everything he'd given up to survive. And everything he gave up daily to get out of bed and keep going.

_No more lives torn apart,_

_Then wars would never start_

_and time would heal the heart_

_And everyone would have a friend_

_And right would always win_

_And love would never end,_

_This is my grown-up Christmas List_

His heart, she thought, his heart was so big and encompassing. He sat alone in his room on Christmas Eve and offered his prayer to a world in need. Not for him. Never. Did he ever ask for anything for himself?

_As children, we believed_

_The grandest sight to see_

_Was something lovely_

_Wrapped beneath our tree_

_But heaven only knows_

_That packages and bows_

_Can never heal_

_A hurting human soul_

She tried to remember the last time she'd heard him speak of his own needs. She'd tried to remember if she'd ever heard it. In all the years she'd known him, when was the last time he'd stopped...and just took a moment for him?

Had he ever?

Did he even know how?

Claire was watching her across the balcony. They were both so quiet, listening to him.

_What is this illusion called the innocence of youth_

_Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth_

_This is my grown up Christmas list_

_This is my only life long wish_

_This is my grown up Christmas list_

Claire said, softly, "All my life, he's stood like a shield between anything that would hurt me. But he's so lonely. Aren't you, Bec? Aren't you lonely?"

Rebecca made a small sound, running her finger over the lighter on the table.

Claire looked at her with sympathy and understanding. "He wanted you to be happy. He wanted you to be loved. Stop being lonely, Bec. And go find your truth."

Rebecca squeezed her hand. She rose. Claire smiled at her, eyes shimmering. She kept the lighter that Rebecca pressed into her palm.

Leon's lighter.

Leon's lights that twinkled around them.

Leon's guitar that made music in his house.

And Chris' song that swirled inside her.

He'd protected her in that castle. He'd protected Faith. He'd stood, like Claire said, like a shield against the world for them.

And his pain was all he had left in the long night. It wasn't fair. And it wasn't right.

Rebecca didn't know anything but this: Leon had died on that rooftop. He'd died to save her.

And Chris Redfield had stayed there to be tortured to protect her.

The only thing that was clear here?

She didn't deserve either of them.

And she would spend the rest of her life trying to live up to the idea of what they'd suffered so much to preserve. It was all she could do. It was all she could offer.

Rebecca moved to the closet in the dark. She opened the door in silence.

And she stared into the depths while the laughter and the lights twinkled and swelled around her.

To honor Leon Kennedy, she had to start letting him go.

To honor Chris Redfield, she had to start living her life again. No more lives torn apart. And wars would never start...

...and time would heal a heart.

And it started by touching all the things the Executioner had left behind...and saying goodbye.

She looked at her shoulder to see if Leon was sitting there, judging her.

But her shoulder was empty.

And she was finally alone in his bedroom...and it was time to make that bedroom hers.

The New Year was rung in with a baby cutting teeth. Faith kept her up all night, gumming and crying.

Harried, hopeless, and exhausted - she went down to get another teething ring from the freezer.

Rebecca dug into the freezer and shifted various things around. Hungry Man meals, a few bags of various vegetables, and cubes of ice. She paused, considering, and reached for the disgusting scotch Leon had left behind in the cabinet.

With a sigh, she popped the bottle open, poured it over two cubes of ice, and took a long pull.

Lord.

It was like heaven.

The man knew his liquor, no lie there.

She hadn't drunk a drop since she'd been nursing.

Faith was nearly weaned completely now. So it was ok to indulge in a little coffee or a little sneaky peek here and there.

Sighing, Rebecca set the bottle on the counter with a long shiver of relaxation.

Claire came in laughing from the main door on a gust of cold air. She was on the arm of the stable master Devon. The draw was obvious there. Devon was a cowboy out of GQ magazine or something. Handsome, weathered, and built rangy and strong.

He was all dark hair and blue eyes. He was almost insanely good looking. Rebecca and Claire spent a few lazy afternoons oogling him down by the barn when the weather was nice.

One day, Claire declared, "I'm going to pull a Chris Redfield on him!"

Curious, Rebecca had queried, "A what now?"

"Watch and learn little mouse. Watch and learn."

And Claire? She'd gone over. No bullshit, no waiting, and just asked the dude out. Additionally? She didn't come home that night...or for three more after that. When she had, she'd been grinning.

Chris had looked at her, winced, and cringed, "Gross, CB. I'm gonna barf."

"Jealousy looks good on you, old man. Just sayin."

Rebecca had never been happier for her. She was just...out there living it. She wished it was that easy for her. But it seldom was.

Claire, enjoying the new year, was a little tipsy and grinning, "Becs! You're missing the party!"

Smiling, Rebecca shrugged, "Fussy baby trumps countdown, I'm afraid."

Claire weaved a little. She had a 2018 crown in cheap shiny gold plunked on her crazy curly red hair. She was in a green dress and looked disheveled, flushed, and beautiful.

And happy.

Rebecca was always a little jealous of her.

The happy part was the biggest part of that jealousy.

Claire intoned, loudly and made Rebecca grin with her enthusiasm, "You want me to watch her for a bit?! I'm happy to! You can go down to the party for the final countdown. Devon will help, right?"

Devon grinned, winking at Rebecca, "Happy to. This one could use a break from the champagne anyway. You should go down, boss, and take a break from this house."

Geez.

He was right about that. She could use a break from this house.

She'd been going through Leon's things for days. It was grueling. It was a matter of never really knowing him well enough to know what he'd want to keep. It was good Claire was there. She was so good at knowing what he liked, what he cared about, what he laughed about.

The more she lived in this house, the more Rebecca was aware that she'd known nothing about him.

The band nerd. The boy who'd become a hero. Who was he?

The most painful truth came from knowing she'd never get the chance to find out.

She handed Claire the teething ring, trusting Devon to be sure the sweet drunk Redhead didn't go handling the baby too much and threw on her coat to head down to the party.

At the door, Claire winked at her lazily and said, "Find my brother and give him a smooch from me to ring in the new year, k?"

Rebecca laughed and patted her butt.

Claire whooped loudly, "See this?! I got felt up by a SCIENTIST!"

Devon scooped her up and made her laugh loudly. And she shouted, "And now I'm about to get felt up by a COWBOY! This is the best new years EVER!"

Lord, Rebecca was jealous of her. Not her getting felt up by a cowboy...not exactly. But her LETTING GO. Claire? She just threw it out there and partied. She was so willing to roll with it. It was enviable.

Rebecca eased down the snowy path in her big boots, her heavy sweater, and a sock hat. She could hear the laughter. And the barn was lit up and filled with warmth and happiness.

The entire ranch was there. From the housekeeper to the hands, the dancing and stomping, the laughing and dancing. It was something to see.

Rebecca accepted a glass of champagne and stood against the wall, watching it all.

She'd barely known the man who'd left her all of this. And yet here...HERE...she could see his heart. It was this place. It was these people. It was this land.

He was everywhere here.

She felt closer to him out here, in this barn, than she had since he'd died.

Her eyes drifted and held, watching the man who'd stood beside her so stalwartly in that castle. There was something swirling in her for him.

What?

She had no answers.

When she'd met Leon Kennedy, she'd been floored first by his face, second by his aching loneliness, and third by his bravery. He was so many things to so many people. Claire had known him the longest. She had stories and stories and stories to comfort her when she missed him and felt his absence in her life.

What did Rebecca have of him?

A few brief months of mind blowing sex and desperation.

A ranch with his ghost.

His child.

And a hole in her heart where the idea of him had once been. Was it that simple? Was she holding on to the idea of Leon Kennedy?

In Canada, he'd fallen into bed with the spy who'd plagued him for so long. He'd thrown aside what they meant to each other for that brief run in the dark. In Italy, he'd rebuked it. He'd chosen her over that darkness. She'd felt him then. On the edge of something great. On the edge of becoming something wonderful.

He'd battled back from nothing. Broken and lost, he'd raced to that roof to save her.

And died a hero.

She had so much regret about all of it. She'd wanted more time. MORE TIME. And there was none.

All she had was those few short months.

It wasn't enough.

And the anger about that plagued her more than anything.

She didn't even have the memory of his first "I love you". Because he'd never said it. He'd been so afraid. He'd never gotten there. Had he? She would never know. She'd never know if he died loving her. Or if he died dedicated to the idea of her. Or if he'd died because he was just a fucking hero and that's what heroes did, they died saving the girl.

She'd never know any of it.

And part of her hated him for leaving her with this place, his child, and this unfinished song of his. She couldn't sing. She couldn't. How did she finish his song?

How did it end? The Ballad of Leon Kennedy. How did it finish?

What was the final note?

She needed to keep him alive for her daughter. But for her?

She'd loved him. Wildly. Madly.

But truly?

And had she ever really needed him? She'd wanted him. She still did. The want of him permeated where it touched like a poison. He was something you coveted. No lie there.

But need?

There was no answer. No easy one.

And there was a truth she wasn't yet ready to face.

It was a man who left a message for her from beyond the grave...and never once said I love you. Devotion. They were devoted to each other.

But where was the need of it?

Where?

Need drove you to couple madly in a dirty house with a spy who would later come to kill you. It drove you to betrayal and madness and passion that cost you everything.

In one hand, she couldn't understand that. Because she'd never felt it.

She wanted him. The moment she met him.

But he'd died before she'd ever touched on the need.

The need came with knowing she couldn't live without him.

She was living. She was here. She was doing ok.

She mourned him. She missed him.

But she didn't need him.

And she was never a woman that tried to pretend away her feelings. She just felt them, good, bad, or otherwise. She felt them.

The cheering started as the countdown began.

A new year was coming.

The first year after the death of Leon Kennedy.

She watched the laughing faces. She watched the bright excitement. Everyone was drinking and so happy. There was champagne and fireworks and delight.

10 - the number of times she'd laid beneath him as he'd made her the only thing in the world that mattered.

9 - the times she'd said I love you...and never heard it back.

8 - the seconds it took for him to throw aside everything she was to thrust inside of the woman who would later see him dead.

7 - the months she'd spent in captivity beside Chris Redfield, protecting their child, and praying for his safety.

6 - the number of times his heart had stopped after he'd been beaten to within an inch of his life trying to save her.

5 - the amount of times Wesker had come into her bedroom late at night to rub her belly and stare at her while she "slept".

4 - the age she was the first time she saw a miracle - and knew there was more than science at play in the world.

3 - the number of pregnancy tests she'd taken the moment she realized she'd missed her period.

2 - the pair of them in that castle - at the mercy of a madman - conspirators in a plan to simply stay alive.

1 - the number of bullets it took to kill a hero. To stop a heart. To end a dream.

Who needed the new year? She could countdown their time together in ten seconds too.

The cheering as the ball finished, as the date flashed above the big TV, 2018.

2018.

2018.

A new year.

Laughter, and she was turned around and kissed by Ollena. By Manny. By Gus and Fern.

She was spun from arms to arms, hugged, kissed and joyfully embraced.

Helga and Rich from the stables. Stu and Caroline that ran the local market. Ben from the neighboring spread.

Kisses and hugs.

Kisses.

She didn't need any of them.

She laughed, she turned, and there was Chris Redfield. In his sweater, soft and blue, like his eyes.

He ducked his head, face flush with good humor and merriment. She curled her fingers into that sweater and went on her tip toes.

She didn't need his kiss.

But she wanted it.

He aimed for her cheek. She tugged him right. And their mouths met, soft, smooth.

So brief. So simple

Over and done.

1 - the number of seconds she'd kissed Chris Redfield in Leon Kennedy's barn.

And the first time she'd felt alive since she'd held him in his blood on that rooftop.

He leaned back, eyes hooded, but he didn't let go of her arms.

She leaned back, breathing sharp and fast, but she didn't unhook her hands from his sweater.

She whispered, "Claire says happy new year."

And he answered, "Happy New Year...Rebecca."

No B. No Becs. Just Rebecca. And the first time she'd felt like Rebecca Chambers in a long time.

2018 - the beginning of the first year after the death of Leon Kennedy.


	6. Chapter 6

**The Human Tank**

* * *

**"Temptation is a woman's weapon and man's excuse."**

**-H. L. Mencken**

* * *

S**ilver Lake Montana -Spring -2018**

* * *

The birthday party was kind of insane.

In all his life, Chris Redfield had never seen so many little monsters in one place. Small, scary, they were like the ankle stabbing freaks in Silent Hill. They just kept trying to cut you down.

He'd been ass deep in bad guys so many times in his life, and none had scared him like a party filled with toddlers.

The bouncy houses, the cakes and cookies, the party favors and balloons - the laughing parents and madness. It swirled and bled around the huge ranch in a way that you either had to jump in and enjoy it, or run screaming.

He stood off to one side, smoking, and considered the running.

But he'd never been a coward.

Beside him, a little girl in a pink dress - someone's kid from the church B was always attending in town clearly - queried, "You're so big. You a mountain?"

He started to answer and one of the kids next to her said, "No, stupid head. He's an X-Men. 'Membo? It's why he's all beat up. He fighted Magneto."

The little girl had big eyes, "Did you win!?"

Again, before he could answer, the boy with the missing front teeth said, "O'course him won! He still ALIVE! He's JUGGERNAUT! My Dad said he killed like four billion zombies with a stick."

The girl was staring, enraptured, "Dat's why he's so big! Four billion!? In one day!?"

Chris said nothing, waiting for the boy to answer again, "O'course! And he shooted seventy five ninjas in the face!"

Tongue in cheek, Rebecca spoke and had him jumping, "Seventy five? You're getting soft in your old age, Captain Redfield."

He laughed, lightly, and turned to look at her. The pretty weather agreed with her. Her hair had grown out and was sort of shaggy around her face. The natural red and gold of it streaked through the dark, highlighting the perfect bone structure. She was still battling the "muffin" as she called it. And he heard her nightly in her room cursing and doing push ups and sit ups.

It was charming.

It was amusing to see her so upset over something that clearly made no difference. She was thin and attractive and petite. She'd never been anything else.

Faith was pushing some other kid over in the mud and making people laugh.

Amused, Chris gestured with his head, "Speaking of fighting ninjas."

"I know." Rebecca laughed, "I shouldn't encourage it. But that kid was a bully anyway."

"Yeah?"

"Oh yeah, always stealing her pacifier. She's not amused."

"Shewolf."

Rebecca grinned, lighting up her face, "Like her mama?"

"Naturally."

She rubbed his arm almost absently and winked at him. The touching was inherent with them. It always had been. It the castle, it had kept them sane. A hug. A hand holding. A rub of the arm. Gentle. Unassuming.

It continued now.

But it made his teeth grit sometimes.

She was ok. She really was. She had the hang of things and the ranch hands here were up to speed on the way to keep the world turning. Kennedy hadn't left her a turd. He'd left her a gold mine.

Kennedy. Chris shifted, watching the laughing children and their excited parents. It should be Leon Kennedy standing here.

What were they always giggling about behind their hands? The Human Tank. Jesus. What a nick name. Even in his own profession he was a joke. The guy who mowed you down and squashed you flat. As much finesse as a five fingered punch to the throat.

Softness. Gentleness. It wasn't his thing. He was a "tank". He just destroyed where he rolled. And he was teaching Kennedy's kid to do the same it seemed.

A sharp whistle drew his eye and there was Claire on the water slide bouncy house. She was laughing with Faith on her lap. She waved and finger gunned him. And if she was listening inside his head right now?

She'd smack the shit out of him.

She was always telling him he was "selling himself short." In the kitchen that morning, while he sat there with that damn guitar playing for the baby. She'd stood against the counter, sipping her coffee.

And she'd said, quietly, "...what a liar you are."

He'd stopped playing, Faith had thrown peas at him in anger, and he'd picked up strumming again to please her. But he'd glanced at his sister. "How so?"

"Nobody knows you. Not really. Not completely. All my life, you've been this...mountain."

And there was that nickname too. The Mountain. Lord.

But she used it differently than the rest of the world. "You stood between me and the rest of the world. If they wanted to hurt me, they had to go over you. A brutal climb, big brother, on a good day."

"That's just loyalty, Claire. It's not something to glorify me for."

Interesting, Claire'd thought at the time, he discounts his own greatest attributes. Mr. Fucking Humble.

"Isn't it? You can't find it on any street corner like an eight ball of coke, Christopher. It's not in all of us."

He'd glanced at her, surprised, "There's no one more loyal than you, Claire. Don't do that. Don't sell yourself short."

And there was that, Claire'd thought, he was so fucking stalwart. He didn't even let you attack yourself. She'd said, "Thank you. And where do you think it comes from?"

He'd shrugged, stopping strumming to wipe food off Faith's face, she'd growled and pretended to bite him which had him laughing and kissing her. Yeah, Claire'd mused, the Human Tank her ass. What a squish.

"Age? Experience? Just being you? Who the hell knows?"

Claire'd taken the chair across from him. She'd put her hands on his knees and drew his attention. "It comes from you, big brother. Where else? Remember when Mom and Dad died? They tried to put me in that foster home. Just for one night. Just one. You were at basic training. You weren't, techincally, allowed to leave. It was the middle of the night and they were poking me in that sedan..."

She'd shifted, getting a little choked up. His hands rolled up to grip hers, squeezing. No tears on his end. Did he ever? She couldn't remember the last time she'd seen him cry. She couldn't remember him doing it ONCE after their parents had died. Sometimes he got a little misty. But there was never the tears.

And she'd finished, "There ya came. In that uniform. Right off the bus. Barely eighteen. Shouting at the top of your lungs."

"I don't think I was shouting that loud."

"Oh, you were. You were." Claire'd laughed, swiping aside a tear, "That's my GIRL, you shouted. Get her outta that car! I could hear the people arguing. There were procedures, there were rules in place. You? Rules? Never in my life had I seen you follow any rules. And you just...mowed them flat to get to me. The Human Tank."

Their hands gripped so hard it had her eyes leaking a little on a laugh. "Yeah. Forget what the Bioterror World says, Chris Redfield. I see you. You're not a tank because you lay your enemies flat...you're a tank because you'll destroy anyone who threatens what you love."

He'd shifted, uncomfortable as always with the insight. But she'd pressed on, "Leon was my best friend."

The pain on his face had hurt them both. She'd woven their fingers, pressing on, "He was. He was my best friend in the world. You didn't fail him."

Oh, lord, Claire'd thought, was there anyone, anywhere who was in more hell than Chris Redfield? Leon had saved Rebecca - instant hero. And Chris had stood at the bottom of that tower in the control of the man who'd destroyed them all. Not a hero.

A villian.

Claire could see the guilt and the pain and the remorse all over him like a cloud.

He'd shook his head and tried to rise but she'd held on, gripping so hard, "You didn't fail him, Chris. In the whole of that battle, only Leon died. You all walked away. Wesker was defeated. Ada Wong is dead. And Faith is right here. Right here, Chris. You saved his daughter. You didn't fail him. He knows that, wherever he is, he knows that. Why don't you?"

At the sink, rinsing Faith's bottle, he'd finally spoken, surprising her. He often times held his silence to a painful degree. "That kid has no father. I failed her. Every fucking kid deserves a father. And Kennedy? He'd have made a helluva good one."

Ooh-oh oh oh. She'd risen. She'd moved through the kitchen and put her arms around him from behind. He didn't lean. But it was close. He vibrated in her arms. And Claire'd said, "He would have. He was full of so much love. But don't you kid yourself and don't you sell yourself short...that kid? She has a father. Look at her. Really look at her. And you'll see it."

She'd kissed his back and walked away.

And he'd stood at the sink throbbing with the pain of it. He didn't want to be that guy. He didn't want to be the guy standing here coveting Leon Kennedy's life. Faith laughed and drew his attention.

And he put it aside to face it another day.

The party went into the late afternoon. The whole town had turned out. It was filled with laughter and excitement.

Kennedy had known what he was doing. This place? It was a happy place. No wonder he ran here when he could. It was a place where you WANTED to hide out. Because you couldn't do anything but enjoy it.

They cleaned up the party. Claire and Devon took Barry and his wife into town for drinks.

Faith was fussy, overly tired, and combative. She didn't want her bath. She didn't want her sock monkey - Herbert. She didn't want a hug. She wanted to be a holy terror. She cried. She threw things.

Rebecca, so frustrated she was on the verge of tears, left Faith in her crib to scream and throw a massive fit. She stood in the hallway, breathing and trying not to weep. A big hero that she was, she was being defeated by a toddler.

Chris came up the stairs sweaty and blowing hard like he'd been working out. He probably had been. He lived at the damn training ground.

He paused to look at her face and tossed his assault bag on his floor in his room. Turning back, he perked up his ears and listened. Faith was in her room shouting and smacking her crib.

Rebecca was leaning in the hall with her eyes closed channeling Jesus or something and looking for some peace.

He said nothing. He paused beside the door where Rebecca was leaning. She glanced at him in frustrated despair. And she said, "I'm failing here."

Chris smiled, eyes twinkling. "Hmm. Not seeing failing. Flailing maybe. But that little monster in there would make anybody flail a little."

"Not you."

"Hah. Well...I'm the Human Tank." He picked up Excalibur and went into the room.

The moment she saw him, Faith sniffled and murmured, wetly, "Mama...MEAN!"

On a small laugh, Chris sat down on the bed. He strummed a few chords and had the little girl lying down to watch him.

He said, conversationally, "I don't think Mama is mean. I think Faith is sleepy."

Faith shook her head, putting her thumb in her mouth, "Faif not seepy."

"Hmm. You get the fibbing from your Dad, I think. Also the inability to recognize your own weaknesses. But we'll let it pass."

Faith shifted on her mattress, "Faif not seepy. Mama mean. Faif Mack Mama! Pop!" She smacked her sock monkey like it was Rebecca.

"Hmm. Only mean little girls hit their Mama."

Faith looked stricken and so sad. "Faif no mean..." She muttered now, watching Chris stubbornly, "Mama...mean."

Chris nodded, sagely, "Also stubborn like he was it seems. And potentially deaf. He was both when it suited." He strummed the first chords of American Pie and she grinned around her thumb. "There we are. Some Don Mclean, pretty girl?"

"Yesh. Sing pwease. Pie song."

Pie song.

His heart shivered.

_A long, long time ago_  
_I can still remember how that music used to make me smile_  
_And I knew if I had my chance_  
_That I could make those people dance_  
_And maybe they'd be happy for a while_

In the hallway, Rebecca did what she always did when he played. She listened. She heard the joy of her daughter.

She had a moment where she wondered if they were both pretending here. Were they all pretending? In Leon's house. In Leon's life. Somehow, they'd stepped into the roles he'd set up without trying.

Had she once stopped to think about if she WANTED to be a rancher?

_But February made me shiver_  
_With every paper I'd deliver_  
_Bad news on the doorstep_  
_I couldn't take one more step_

_I can't remember if I cried_  
_When I read about his widowed bride_  
_But something touched me deep inside_  
_The day the music died_

That was part of it, she knew. The music died. The day it died. The death of Leon Kennedy had bound them here. In his life. In his house. In his retirement.

But it was a stopping point. It was never meant to be permanent. Eventually? They'd move on. Both of them?

Or just Chris Redfield?

_So bye, bye, Miss American Pie_  
_Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry_  
_And them good ole boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye_  
_Singin' this'll be the day that I die_  
_This'll be the day that I die_

And he would. He would if he stayed here.

This wasn't his place. It was his guilt that bound him here and that loyalty he was so good at. He'd promised to watch over her. So, here he was. If he stayed here, in Leon's house...in Leon's chair...in Leon's life...he'd start to stifle. He'd wake up one day and wonder if he was still Chris Redfield.

She wanted to take his pain. She wanted to take his sadness.

She just...wanted to take him.

She wanted to touch him. Like she'd touched Leon that first time. Just..instant. Needy. Desperate. But different.

Different. Because this man?

This man was her friend. Her companion. Her compatriot. The guy who'd given up his own freedom - twice - to help her.

She couldn't repay that with a senseless roll in the hay.

_Oh, and there we were all in one place_  
_A generation lost in space_  
_With no time left to start again_  
_So come on, Jack be nimble, Jack be quick_  
_Jack Flash sat on a candlestick_  
_'Cause fire is the devil's only friend_

She wanted a moment. That moment. That one moment. To know if what she felt for Chris Redfield was the echo of what she'd felt for Leon Kennedy...or if the girl who'd once loved a hero who'd saved her from a hunter...if that girl had simply become a woman who loved a man who'd saved her from a monster.

Love?

_Oh, and as I watched him on the stage_  
_My hands were clenched in fists of rage_  
_No angel born in Hell_  
_Could break that Satan's spell_

_And as the flames climbed high into the night_  
_To light the sacrificial rite_  
_I saw Satan laughing with delight_  
_The day the music died_

Faith laughed in the room. Her heart? It swelled.

Love. Maybe not the kind that she'd so desperately cultivated for Leon Kennedy. Maybe not that kind of love. The kind that burned and burned out and blistered where it scorched. Maybe not that.

But the kind built on the back of years of friendship and devotion. Of loyalty and dependability and trust.

It made it sound so sad when you said it loud like that. But it wasn't. It wasn't at all. It was the surest of anything she'd ever felt in her life. She'd chased Leon Kennedy like she'd catch him and own him.

You didn't chase Chris Redfield. You didn't have to. He wasn't running. He stuck. He stayed. Sometimes to his own detriment. She felt safe when he was there. She felt secure. She felt good.

And she'd missed feeling good.

_And in the streets, the children screamed_

_The lovers cried and the poets dreamed_  
_But not a word was spoken_  
_The church bells all were broken_

_And the three men I admire most_  
_The Father, Son and the Holy Ghost_  
_They caught the last train for the coast_  
_The day the music died_

There was nothing sad about loving Chris Redfield. And the music? It hadn't died with Leon Kennedy.

It was just playing a different tune. And she was still trying to figure out the lyrics.

She touched the cross at her throat. She thought of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Ghost.

And she took a moment, just one, to ask God to offer her a sign. Did she push here? Or did she let him go?

In the room, the guitar played, the baby laughed, and the lyrics filled the hallway, offering her a glimpse into what God was telling her.

_They were singing bye, bye, Miss American Pie_  
_Drove my Chevy to the levee but the levee was dry_  
_Them good ole boys were drinking whiskey 'n rye_  
_And singin' this'll be the day that I die_

If she trapped him here, it would be the place he went to die. He wouldn't be Chris Redfield anymore...he'd become the ghost of Leon Kennedy.

After dinner, Rebecca found him strapping himself down to head out to the training ground. She watched him move, with purpose and drive. No wasted movement. No unnecessary shifts.

She'd once thought of Leon as poetry in motion. He moved so cleanly, so perfectly, a dance with the devil or the truth or the future. But Chris?

He didn't dance.

He just...kicked in doors. And kept on going.

He would stifle here. He would fade away. And he'd never let up. He'd simply wake up one day and he'd look in the mirror and he'd see...what? An old man who'd lost his fight or lost his purpose or let it be taken from him. He'd blame her. He'd blame Faith. He'd blame himself for being too good.

She couldn't let that happen.

So, she said softly, "Maybe it's time for you to get back to work."

Surprised, he glanced up. He was strapping on his boots. The black he wore was something to see against the pale room. She was so used to his lazy hoodies and his t-shirts. He had a variety of stupid t-shirts. The one beneath the black vest he wore was pale green and had the Muppets on it. But this? This was him. In the heavy gear. In the combat boots. In the battle.

He was a warrior. Not a rancher.

She was trapping him here with guilt and loyalty. It was a shitty cage to keep someone you loved in.

But he asked, "You want me to go?"

Lord.

LORD.

She laughed a little, shaking her head, "No. Not ever. I'm terrified to do this alone. But I can't stand the thought of you feeling like you have to stay here. Like you're obligated or something. I'm ok. I'll be ok. And I'm so grateful to you for staying. But if you want to, if you need to, get back your life...that's ok too. I won't be angry. I won't fall apart. I'm ok now."

He braced his elbows on his knees, watching her. So quiet when it suited him. He only showed you what he wanted you to see. A careful man on a good day, he was good at shutting down when he was trying to protect you.

And then he said, "B - I'm right where I need to be. If duty calls, I leave, you know that. I don't feel trappped here or obligated or oppressed. Am I thrilled to live in Kennedy's house? Not really, he owned a bunch of stupid girly shit like aromatherapy candles and fungus schway stuff...so it's a bit like living in a chic's dorm..."

Rebecca felt the grin spread over her face, eyes twinkling, "It's feng-shui. It's a practice based on the idea that our homes are a mirror of what's happening inside us. The purpose of feng shui is to get your environment in alignment with who you are and where you want to go—to harmonize your energy with your home's energy."

Chris blinked, snorting out a laugh, "That's the gayest thing anyone said, ever. Proving he was a girl under all that hair. But I can live anywhere, B, and be ok. This is his house. I get it. I'm just taking up a room for now. When you're done with me? I'll hit the bricks. But don't push me out to "save me" or something. I wasn't afraid of Leon Kennedy when he was alive. I'm not scared of his ghost. He wants to haunt me? Bring it. I could use the laugh. I bet even his puns in the afterlife are awful."

"He'd probably just haunt you and steal your chips anyway."

Chris grinned, laughing lightly, "Paranormal...snacktivity?"

Her mouth twitched. His did too.

"That ghost joke was "bootiful.""

They both laughed, rolling eyes.

And he finally quipped, "Ok. So maybe I'm channeling way too much Kennedy in this house after all. Time for a break. Jill should be here soon and we're gonna hit the training ground. You wanna come along? Claire is here somewhere with Devon. So the baby is covered."

"Sure. I'll go throw something on and meet you downstairs."

"Cool beans."

She left the bedroom. He remained sitting for a long moment.

She was worried he was stifling here. He understood the concern. In all his life, he couldn't remember two weeks total that he'd gone without taking a mission. This was a hiatus for him. It was a long one.

The interesting thing?

He was kinda enjoying it. In one hand, it was a nice change from the fight to just...exist. The baby...she was something. She kept him entertained. The ranch was bustling. There was always something to do.

He'd never put much thought into what happened after he retired from active duty. Assumingly, he'd still man the helm of the BSAA until he died, but what about outside that? He had the cabin, sure. But he'd always planned to buy a plot of land somewhere and be self sufficient.

Farming, naturally, and raising his own livestock.

This was close.

It was KENNEDY's. So that sucked. But he was also a wise enough man to know it wasn't Kennedy's anymore either. Leon was dead.

In his business, he knew what dead was. It wasn't always permanent, so that was just...fucked up. But it was here. They'd buried him. They'd mourned him. They'd taken over his house like weird guests on Clue.

But this ranch? It didn't feel like Leon Kennedy's. It hadn't in awhile.

It didn't even feel like Rebecca's.

It felt like HIS.

An interesting feeling. The kid, the ranch...they felt like his. That was the main reason to run here. He was getting posessive over Kennedy's life.

But the thing about that? He and Rebecca had been in that castle for so long together, before Kennedy had rushed that roof and died, how long had it been since she'd even seen him?

They'd had one moment together on that roof in what...eighteen months now? At least? He'd been dead the better part of a year. The kid was one and B had been several months preggers when they'd gone into captivity. When was the last time, honestly, she'd sent more than a minute with Kennedy?

Was she really still his woman?

Whoa.

_WHOA._

_**Whoa.**_

Out loud, he said, "...really? Semantics?"

He was making excuses.

He was making excuses for why it was ok to look at Kennedy's woman.

Maybe she was right. Maybe it was time to go.

Before he started thinking it was ok to touch her too. Protect her, take care of her, didn't mean fuck her.

At least here, in this moment, he could admit that's what he wanted. He wanted to fuck her. That simple. That basic. He'd over looked her for years. Forever. She'd found Kennedy on that chopper and teased him about being blind to her. She was right. He had been.

In the castle, he'd been able to really just...stop...and see her. His friend. His pal. He was a guy. He looked. And he liked looking.

But here? Now? He enjoyed her. They clicked. It was easy and friendly. They laughed and got along like gold. The tension was all on his side, clearly, but that was ok too. He could handle a few stiffies when he thought about her. Again, those had been his constant plague since he was twelve years old.

But he didn't want to compromise their friendship by putting the moves on her either. With Leon Kennedy watching him from the great beyond and giggling like a schoolgirl. Ugh.

No.

Chris picked up his assault bag and stepped out of the bedroom. He closed his door and turned.

Rebecca came out of her room so fast it was startling. She was almost running. She bumped into him, he dropped the bag, and his hands caught her arms to keep them from both going over.

Laughing, she grabbed his wrists and held on. "Sorry! I thought I was taking forever! I was sure you'd left me behind."

"You ever known me to leave you behind?"

Oh.

A good question.

Rebecca giggled a little and rubbed his wrists. "Nope. You got me there. You ready?"

"Yep. Just headed down to wait for Jill."

Rebecca gave him a thumbs up, grinning. "Ok. Let me get your bag!"

"You can't carry that, skin and bones, trust me."

"Pfft! Watch this." She ducked down, she grabbed the bag and made the most adorable OOMPH sound ever, and her face turned beet red.

Amused, he let her try. She put the loops over her arms like a back pack, fail. She put the loops over one shoulder and tried to heave it up, fail. Finally, she pursed her lips and gave him the stink eye.

His face was very deadpan. But those eyes of his? They were CLEARLY saying I Told You So.

He ducked down and helped her pick it up. She grunted, huffing like she'd run a mile, and had him smiling. She balanced the bag on her arms and waddled forward. Her gait was splay legged for support.

Impossibly amused, Chris followed behind her. "Lift from the knees, B. Not the back. You'll strain something otherwise."

"I got this, Redfield! Mind ya business!"

She started down the massive staircase, slow but steady. She made it down about four steps and teetered. She tried to hold on and tottered. She let out a squeak of fear and Chris grabbed her before she went down.

She spilled against him, laughing. The bag thunked onto the stairs and slid down like a sled.

Giggling, Rebecca mused, "So maybe I could stand to lift some weights."

"Maybe."

"A few."

"Potentially."

She laughed and shifted to stand up right. She started to tease him about catching her and she realized he wasn't looking at her face.

He was, however, staring down the V-neck of her top into her cleavage.

Her mouth went bone dry. She licked her lips and she said, "See anything good down there?"

His eyes snapped up so fast she was surprised he wasn't dizzy from it. She watched the color shoot up his neck to his ears. She'd wondered before. She'd never been quite sure. She was sure as shit about it now though.

He was blushing.

He was looking.

He was looking at her like that.

Still.

Finally?

Something.

He laughed, hoarse and dry, "Sorry. Male prerogative."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Oh, yeah? See boobs, stare?"

"Yep. That's pretty much the agenda."

Her eyes twinkled at him. "Admittedly, nursing has given me a huge set of boobs."

Lord. This was the strangest conversation he'd had with someone in a long time. "...that's an affirmative."

Rebecca grinned. Chris grinned. It was all harmless. Really. Harmless.

And then she said, "Too big? What do you think?"

Yep. The strangest conversation he'd had in a long time.

Hands down.

She couldn't help it. His blushing? It was making her feel so good. She'd felt dead lately. The only time she didn't? When she'd brushed him that night in their hug. When she'd pressed a kiss to him on New Year's.

And now.

NOW.

She wasn't dead. Why did she keep forgetting that?

Hoarsely, he laughed again, "I think that question is relative."

She tilted her head, "Hard to tell in a sports bra huh? I should wear a sexy bra and really try these bad boys out right? Wear a low cut top down by the barn. What do you think the ranch hands would do?"

She was trying to kill him.

Maybe.

Potentially.

"Fall off their horses and get trampled. Maybe start stalking you. I suspect you would have a lot of unwanted peeping toms at night."

"Hmm." She shifted and her hand slid over his chest. It curled around the vest he wore. "You one of them?"

Dangerous ground here.

But he said quietly, "Maybe. You want me peeping in your window like some kind of perv?"

Her other hand slid up the back of his arm. His hands curled over to grip her elbows, squeezing. "...maybe. Try it some time and find out."

Lord.

She shifted into his "zone". Right into his attack zone. If he was going to kill her, she was making it easy. But he wasn't gonna kill her.

He thought vaguely that he was gonna kiss her though. That was probably where this was headed. She breathed, "You don't have to be outside my window, Chris. You can just...come on in."

Yep.

That's where this was headed.

He dropped his eyes to her mouth. She felt her pulse speed up and excite her.

And then? A VERY loud voice, "What's taking so long!? I'm getting bored! I'm going to start breaking into locked shit down here to amuse myself! REDFIELD! SHAKE YOUR ASS!"

Jill.

They both let go.

And he thought, nope, you're wrong. She's just...being B. Friendly. Joking.

Why did it feel like a little weird devil was on his shoulder saying, "Liar liar pants on fire"?

Why did it have Leon Kennedy's face?

Rebecca was flushed, trembling a little. Chris picked up the bag. He went down the stairs.

No awkward moment for him apparently. He just...got on with it.

Rebecca stood on the stairs, relearning how to breathe.

Nope. Not dead.

Although she was seriously considering killing Jill Valentine.


	7. Chapter 7

**Titanium**

* * *

_**"The real man smiles in trouble, gathers strength from distress, and grows brave by reflection."**_

**\- Thomas Paine**

* * *

**Silver Lake, Montana - Summer - 2018**

* * *

Chris left one morning, early, in May. He didn't come back until late June.

For a while, she figured he wasn't coming back.

It was anticlimactic at best. But it was ok. He was known for it. He didn't tell you where he was going. Honestly, who was he accountable to? No one.

She wasn't his woman. Wasn't anything more than his roommate.

He owed her nothing.

She found him gone and was a little shell-shocked. But he didn't leave her alone.

He left Jill Valentine in his place.

Jill.

The former thief.

The playboy bunny with yards of blonde hair.

Jill grinned at her and said, "You and me, RC. What kinda trouble can we get into?"

Lots, seemingly.

Faith was fifteen months old and weaned. Saying goodbye to breastfeeding was so hard. It made Rebecca cry one night after a long day. No more of that special time with just her and her baby.

Jill took one look at her and said, "Nope."

And took her drinking. They went dancing. They went people watching. They danced with cowboys and did karaoke. Jill rebuked a few of them and tried to hook Rebecca up. She declined, politely.

But they had such a good time neither cared.

Jill liked to move like a hurricane. She was fast and brutal. She went from one place to the next without stopping.

They spent a lot of time at the lake swimming.

Jill was an asshole about doing cannonballs and soaking you when you weren't looking. Jill did armpit farts and made dirty jokes. She liked to do Yoga on the porch and make the ranch hands forget about their work.

She flirted with everyone. EVERYONE. And never touched a soul.

She was amazing.

It was impossible to be sad when she was around.

One day, they were down by the lake with Faith, having a picnic and watching the sunset.

Jill was sipping a beer and watching Rebecca while Faith napped on the blanket. Feeling her looking, Rebecca looked up at her, "What?"

"No offense, but are you happy here?"

A good question.

Rebecca shifted a little. "I don't know. I'm not unhappy. I don't mind the ranching side of it. I don't feel any desire to go back to the lab, so that's something. I do enough processing and things from here. I'm not a fighter, Jill. So there's nothing calling me to return to that."

Jill sighed, watching the orange and gold on the water. "What about the call of...nature? Science? Something."

Rebecca laughed, lightly. "I can do all that from here. After Arias and that mess, I mostly work from home anyway. When you have a lab? It has a tendency to get blown up."

Nodding sagely, Jill leaned back on her elbows. She was all tits and ass in her swimsuit. Rebecca wasn't jealous though, they were just different body types.

Of course, she was a huge liar. Because the awkward nerd in her would have killed to look like Jill Valentine.

Rebecca wore a tasteful one piece. A "mom" suit. It was flattering and white and functional on her thin frame. After the nursing, the breasts were starting to shrink back to their pre-baby petiteness. It was...a little sad for her. She mourned the curves. She was almost fairy skinny again. But she'd made her peace with her body years ago.

She wasn't making men drool with her feminine wiles, that was for sure. How in the hell had she ever hooked Leon Kennedy? The question was still a mystery to her.

Jill said, quietly, "I could be happy here."

Curious, Rebecca sipped her water. "Yeah?"

"Yeah. I've been entertaining retiring for years now. It started when Chris fucking freaked out after Edonia and went off the deep end. I thought...this is where we go to lose our shit and die right? And then the clocktower happened. And Wesker..." She went quiet, staring off into the horizon.

Carefully, Rebecca broached the subject she'd been wanting to ask forever. "He died in that clocktower...the first time?"

Jill shifted, watching birds nesting in the tree. A pretty spot, for sure, he knew his land. He'd known, what was waiting here for him. He'd never made it back to the land. Or the girl. Or the life he'd wanted.

It wasn't right.

And she said, "He did. I resuscitated him...when I could. He was...fucking destroyed. He lost so much blood. He was nothing but shattered bones and blood. I've never seen anyone, ever...come back from that."

Rebecca felt the well of it in her chest. "But he did."

"Oh, yeah. Like a fucking machine. He lost an eye. They cut his goddamn hair off to fix his brain or whatever..." Jill shifted again, sitting up to scoop her wet hair off her face. Rebecca watched her expression and felt her belly shiver. Jill laughed darkly, "He didn't care. Fuck the hair, he said, and he just...kept on going."

Rebecca offered her the water but Jill waved it away to grab a beer. She popped it and took a long pull. "He rebuilt from nothing. Nothing. Bones and guts and drive. He was fucking beautiful with how hard he pushed. He never stopped. They call Chris the Human Tank right? He is. But so was fucking Leon Kennedy. So was Kennedy."

She was so angry.

Rebecca felt it coming off her in waves. Interested in it, almost academically, she listened quietly to the other woman.

"He kept getting up. He kept going. And what? What?! He hits that roof and the mother fucking viper in a slutty dress puts one in his chest and...that's it?! That's how it ends? That's how it goes down for Leon Kennedy? He just dies...he just DIES. Boom. Done." Jill threw the beer and the birds scattered, squawking with rage. She was vibrating with rage. "Bullshit. Dicks and balls and bullshit. How can that be it? Stupid. Bullshit. Damnit."

Rebecca was quiet for a long moment. Jill was too.

The birds chirped. The sun shined. The water was warm. A good day.

To mourn Leon Kennedy.

And Rebecca said, "You loved him." It was said with awe. Not jealousy. None of that. But awe. Because it was ON her. The way it was on Claire. Not infatuation. Not desperation. Not obsession. Not want even. Love. LOVE. The big L. The real kind.

In what universe did Jill Valentine love Leon Kennedy?

This one.

Where he was dead. Where he was lost. Where he was gone.

Claire spoke of him with that kind of affection that said once, maybe, it might have been more. But it was just love for a man she'd known so well and so completely.

This?

This was different.

Because Jill Valentine mourned him. And Jill Valentine LOVED him. All caps. All truth.

Jill glanced at her face. They held gazes. And there was no hatred here. No jealousy. No anger. Just truth.

Jill said, "I do. Still. I tried not to in the beginning. We were harmless for a long time. Just flirting. He didn't even fucking know anyway. But all that time together. I helped him back. Because he deserved it. Guy like that? All the times he'd taken hits and got back up? He needed a push. I pushed him. He was great...after Wesker. And the captivity. He was great. He just...showed up and trained with me. He talked with me. He was so fucking laid back and funny. And when we were there and he was recovering..."

She trailed off. Rebecca reached over and took her hand, squeezing hard.

Jill finished, quietly, "I didn't poach. I didn't touch. I want you to know that. Not once. Not ever."

"I know that. You don't need to say it. I know that."

"But I couldn't stop it. I never met anyone like him. We just...talked. He just talked and I listened. Two lost souls or something right? His life was a fucking mess. Mine was too. And there we were, in that place together. Stuck together while he, literally, came back from the dead. He was so strong. So virile. So...shit. SHIT." She put her face in her hands and hitched out a breath. She laughed and it was wet. But she didn't weep.

Jill wasn't a crier on a good day.

She channeled the tears into anger.

"Sorry. I'm sitting here mooning over your man. Like a weirdo. Or a groupie. Sorry. Jesus."

Rebecca studied her, smiling softly. "It's ok. I think...I think he just had women loving him all his life. The crazy part? He had no clue. He was utterly blind."

"Chic retarded huh? I know the type." Jill shifted, laughing now, "Speaking of which...look who's decided to grace us with his presence."

He was coming across the grass toward them, the Human Tank. A white t-shirt and swim trunks and flipflops. Him and those flipflops, Rebecca mused, charmingly laid back. He needed a shave and a haircut. And as he moved, she saw the bruises.

They flowered up his neck and over the left side of his face. There appeared to be a burn on his left forearm and a bite? Something on his right calve. Rebecca sighed, shaking her head, "Is he ever not beat to shit?"

Jill laughed, lightly, "The easy answer is no. It's what he does."

Rebecca shifted again, watching him, "Have you seen under the shirt?"

Jill glanced at her face, watching her expression, "Not recently. Why?"

"...just wait." Quiet. Emphatic.

A curious feeling for Rebecca was that she wanted to leap up and run over to hug him. She'd missed him. It was almost a physical ache in her belly. It was curious that talking about Jill loving Leon hadn't done anything but left a sense of bonding. No jealousy.

And yet here she was missing the Human Tank.

Curious.

Jill, sitting beside her, was aware of the grinning. The scientist. Her guy walking toward them. There was a lot of grinning happening on this ranch.

She liked the grinning.

Chris needed love. It was, and had always, been that simple. Whatever had floated around them for years, it was a door left closed for various reasons. It allowed them to be best friends and partners. It kept things safe and comfortable.

But Chris needed something not safe. Not comfortable.

He couldn't do any better, ever, than Rebecca. As long as she wasn't lighting torches for Leon and weeping into her pillow, Jill was thumbs up for it. Chris didn't need to be a stand in for Kennedy. And definitely not a widow's rebound.

It took a good amount of restraint to say nothing. Because she wasn't entirely sure that was what she was seeing here anyway.

Jill hooted as he got closer, "You look like hammered SHIT, Red. What the hell you been doin?"

Shrugging, unconcerned, Chris sat down on their blanket and stole her beer. Jill let him have it, slapping his arm for the effort.

He took a long pull and sighed, flopping down with his feet kicked out and legs relaxed, "Huge mess in the Baltic. You wouldn't believe what kind of cleanup they needed. First, we had to clear the infestation. Which took...like three hundred years. And after? Jesus, mass infection. What a nightmare."

Rebecca reached over and rubbed his arm, no thought, just comfort.

Jill sipped her beer, studying them.

Rebecca said, "Long days huh?"

"You ain't kiddin there, kid. How's my girl?"

The baby? Jill mused. Or the scientist? She put her tongue in her cheek and smirked at the thought.

Rebecca laughed, "She's good. She misses you. I...tried to play the piano for her to settle her down? And sing to her."

Amused, he laughed. She was betting those eyes of his were twinkling behind his sunglasses too. "Hmm. Butcher it, did ya?"

"Possibly. I don't think she enjoyed my off key rendition of Blackbird. Just saying."

"Everybody's a critic."

Rebecca grinned and touched her forehead to his arm. "She missed you. She'll be thrilled you're back."

He rubbed her leg, again, absently. Jill pursed her lips, smirking.

"I shouldn't have taken off like that. I should have said something."

Rebecca waved it away and rose, "No reason. I'm not your mother. I assumed it was an emergency flight."

"It was. I'm still sorry I didn't at least leave you an explanation."

"We managed. No sorries. Just glad you're back. Swim?"

"You bet. Gimme a minute."

Rebecca grinned and ran toward the water. He watched her dive in and bob away like a cork.

Jill, beside him, remarked, "You clever man."

Chris glanced at her, brow raised, "A true statement. But I'll bite. Why am I?"

"Put your noodle to it, Redfield. It'll come to you. Go swim with the lab mouse. I'll watch the kid."

He grinned and fist-bumped her. "Good to see you, Valentine. I've missed your tits."

Jill laughed, slapping his ass as he rose. "Such a sweet talker, Redfield, you silver-tongued devil. As much class as a drunk Kardashian."

Unoffended, Chris shucked his shirt and tossed his sunglasses down. And she saw what Rebecca meant. He was a mess. He'd been scarred as long as she'd known him, par for the course with what they did, but his back and chest were a Jackson Pollack. A mess. What the hell had they done to him?! She kept her face blank.

But the fine rolling rage that existed with the death of Kennedy blended for her guy. Tortured and killed. This is what Albert Wesker did to them. He was still out there.

Still out there.

STILL OUT THERE.

He needed destroying. She knew neither she nor Chris would ever stop until they killed him...or joined Leon in the ground.

Faith stirred on the blanket, coming awake. She rolled her head. She fussed. And then she heard him laughing.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes. Jill picked her up to sit on her lap. The little girl stuffed her thumb in her mouth and watched her Mama and Chris in the water together. They laughed and swam and fought. It was pretty fucking adorable.

Jill asked, softly, "Who's that, baby girl?"

And Faith popped her thumb out and said, "Mama."

"Mmm-hmm. And?"

But they both knew the answer of course. She said it anyway and made Jill remember what they were fighting for here. Moments like that.

Moments like this.

And Faith said, "Kiss. Dada. Mine."

Jill kissed her soft hair, watching them laugh and swim. "Yeah. I think you're right about all three, honey. You get the Human Tank to love you?"

Faith nodded wisely, "Yes. Wuv. Dada. Mine." She made a kiss noise and giggled.

"You little minx. What chance did he ever really have? Should we get Mama and Dada off this ranch? Whatchu think?"

Faith nodded, giggled again, put her thumb in her mouth, and seemed to know all about it. "Yes. Mama. Dada. Bye-Bye. Mine."

"Them's six words that sound good to me, baby girl. You smart little thing. Between Rebecca and Leon, I figure your IQ will be something like 180. God HELP the man you set your sights on."

Faith sighed, watching them in the water, "Yes...world? Mine."

"God damn, I've never heard anything truer."

He played for her to put her to sleep. Rebecca listened to him in the hallway.

She heard him close the door and move into his room. She heard him beyond the door. He made small hisses and sounds of pain.

Tough guy, he'd never let on all day. She didn't know what it meant that she'd missed him so much.

She didn't know anything but that she was glad he was back. She felt...complete with him here. It was like going through the world with one leg or something when he was gone.

For the first time in weeks, Faith had been a treasure at dinner, at bed time, at bath time. Just all charm and giggles and light.

The little stinker. She was charming the man she loved, clearly. Who could blame her there? He came back and brought the laughter back with him.

Jill was happy. Rebecca was happy. Faith was happy. Chris...seemed happy.

She moved passed Jill's room and paused. The noises beyond the door had her brows lifting. The door was cracked enough that Rebecca was able to see the shadows and the movement.

Her heart sped up like a dirty pervert. But there she was...watching the shadows of Jill Valentine and Ben, the super hot guy from the next spread over, in flagrante delicto. They weren't exactly quiet about it. There was ALOT of noises beyond that door. Jill, clearly, was a moaner.

Rebecca stood there for waaaay longer than she should have. But, in her defense, she was a little tipsy and totally hard up. So, she watched a little, like a creeper. Or a jealous drunk. Maybe both. She could see his back muscles, Jill's pale thighs and legs, and the rutting. The movement of him between her legs. Her hands and her hair all over them like a cloud. It was kinda beautiful in a purely physical way. Like a movie or something.

Rebecca felt her heartbeat speed up with something...something. What was it? Jealousy? It was something.

Ollena dropped something in the kitchen.

Rebecca jumped like a kid with their hand in the cookie jar. She pressed a fist to her belly.

She was lonely. It was that simple. She was lonely.

She turned back to her bedroom and paused, a hand on her door.

It was the first time she wasn't lonely for Leon Kennedy. She heard his guitar playing in the other bedroom.

But it wasn't him in there playing.

Chris did that when he couldn't settle or was in pain or both. In this moment? It was both for him.

And, for just a moment, she wanted to take his pain. She wanted to take her own. She wanted to forget it for both of them.

Jill moaned and gasped in her room.

Jill was taking her moment.

Rebecca wanted to take a moment, now, for them both.

His door wasn't locked. She opened it. She went in. He set down the guitar. He was in the moonlight and the twinkling pattern of lights from the bathroom. It spilled a myriad of pretty colors across his scarred skin. It painted him perfectly while the laughter from the Friday night gathering down by the barn swelled up around them.

It felt good here. It felt right.

A moment like this.

He laughed a little, sheepishly, "I'm sorry. I can't settle. Am I keeping you up?"

She shook her head. Her heart was hammering so hard it was in her ears.

He tilted his head, watching her lean on the door so hard the knob was digging into her back, "B? What? You ok?"

She wanted this one moment. Just for her. Just this one moment. That's it. Was it wrong?

She didn't care.

He must have seen something on her face. She didn't know what. She didn't even know if she cared. But the concern on his face flickered to what? Fear? It was something. She didn't like it. She was done worrying about guilt or what was right. She just wanted ONE MOMENT.

He started to roll off his bed to rise and she pushed off the door. He watched her come across the room like a predator.

She kinda was. She didn't care.

He waited, watching her while she tugged his legs to the end of the bed.

He started to say…something.

She put the guitar in his hands. She was shaking. "Play for me. Please?"

And they watched each other in the moonlight. He strummed a few chords and she trembled. She sat down beside him. They both stared at the silver on the floor from the balcony.

A good choice. A right choice. It was better somehow, stronger, deeper - with that rich voice of his. In the low key he sang in, with that rolling folk singer voice of his...it moved her.

She twisted her hands in her lap, she bowed her head, and she looked for her sign.

_You shout it out,_  
_But I can't hear a word you say_  
_I'm talking loud, not saying much_  
_I'm criticized but all your bullets ricochet_  
_Shoot me down, but I get up_

Because he knew, always, what she needed to hear. Somehow.

The little cross around her neck dangled in the light, reflecting.

_I'm bulletproof, nothing to lose_  
_Fire away, fire away_  
_Ricochet, you take your aim_  
_Fire away, fire away_  
_You shoot me down but I won't fall_  
_I am titanium_  
_You shoot me down but I won't fall_  
_I am titanium_

She tucked her legs up, putting her face against them. He could feel her pain. It echoed. It spilled. It hurt where it hit. Kennedy had given her a ranch, given her a daughter, and stolen her faith. He'd died and taken some part of her with him.

So Chris used his "sword" to give it back to her now. So, she knew, somehow, this isn't where she ended. It was just a place she was made stronger. Invincible. Unbreakable.

Titanium.

_Cut me down_  
_But it's you who'll have further to fall_  
_Ghost town and haunted love_  
_Raise your voice, sticks and stones may break my bones_  
_I'm talking loud not saying much_

She started shaking. She wept so fully, so completely, full body and full throttle. A good cry, he thought, cathartic. Purging. She had to purge Kennedy to put him away. She had to purge him to bury him and move on.

_Stone-heart, machine gun_  
_Firing at the ones who run_  
_Stone heart loves bulletproof glass_

_I'm bulletproof - nothing to lose_

_Fire away, Fire away_

_Richochet-take your aim_

_Fire away, Fire away_

_I am titanium_  
_I am titanium_  
_I am titanium_

And each time he sang it. Each time he said it. Each time she felt it. She believed it.

He let the chords drift off. He set down the guitar.

She turned and spilled against him, clinging.

The laughter floated up from the barn. She was out of tears. And he was out of time here.

He was so wrong before. He was done here.

Because he didn't just want to fuck her. He was a liar. A liar. And he wouldn't live in her house a liar. She deserved better.

Kennedy deserved better.

He'd stayed too long. The danger signs flashed all around them. It was time to see if she was titanium.

He wasn't. He was just a glass tank after all. If he stayed, he was going to fall in love with her. And there was nothing good there for them if he did. Not here. In Leon's house.

In Leon's shadow.

In Leon's memory.

It was time to let her go and leave Leon Kennedy's life behind.

He left in the middle of the night.

She lay in her bed listening to the big truck fire up. She felt the tremble of her heart in her chest.

In the bedroom door, Jill watched her on the bed. "There's time. Go after him."

Rebecca said nothing, listening to him gather his things. "I won't tie him here. I meant it before. This isn't his place. It's mine."

Jill waited for a long moment, watching her, "Is it? Or is it Leon Kennedy's?"

No answer.

Rebecca rolled from the bed. Jill rubbed her arm. But the scientist shook her head and moved into the bedroom where he was saying goodbye to her daughter. Faith slept peacefully, lulled there by his guitar, his singing...his love.

He stroked her hair, watching her face in the silvery shadows. Rebecca crossed her arms, leaning in the frame.

"Itchy feet?"

He turned to look at her. He was in full gear. He was a tank, alright. He was rolling right over the top of her.

"It's time."

"You came back for one day."

"I did. To say goodbye." He kissed Faith's forehead and she giggled in her sleep. Hard to tell in the moonlight, but he looked misty. "Jill is here. You'll be alright."

"I will. Don't worry. You never promised me anything. You aren't breaking any now. Don't leave here with guilt, Chris. It's ok. We'll be fine."

His hand was bigger than Faith's little head as he stroked her hair and finally turned away. "I'll visit."

"Of course." He wouldn't. They both knew that.

"The ranch hands...they trust you. Jill? She'll whip this place into her hands fast enough. She always talked about ending up on a place like this. She'll stay as long as you need her."

"We'll be fine. Don't worry."

He nodded. He shifted. And he was Chris Redfield again. Not a rancher. Not a father.

A warrior.

It was what he was meant to be.

He paused beside her at the door. "Call if you need anything, B. You know that."

She stayed staring at the baby in the bed. Her belly hurt. Her eyes were burning. "I won't. We both know that."

His jaw clenched as he breathed, just once. "I know. Titanium."

"...am I? I feel like glass."

"I've never met anyone stronger. Ever."

She laughed, wetly, "Liar. You breathe on me now? I'll shatter."

He turned. She turned. A good hug. She slid into his arms against his loaded vest. She clung, shaking. Over her head, Jill stood watching them in her doorway.

They locked eyes. A long look. And the first time he felt like a coward.

In all his life. That look on Jill's face? It said: COWARD.

She shook her head at him and turned into her room, closing the door quietly.

So, that's how it was. Judged for doing the right thing there. What did she think? He'd stay here and love Leon Kennedy's woman, raise his kid, run his ranch...and live in his shadow forever?

He was CHRIS REDFIELD. This wasn't his place.

Even if he wanted it. IT WASN'T HIS PLACE.

Rebecca sniffled. She let him go, "Thank you for everything. I mean it."

"No thanks, B. Ever."

She shook her head, softly, "It's Rebecca. My name? Rebecca. You think if you say it, you'll turn to stone?"

He watched her quietly, "Or maybe you'll see me as a woman and not a charity case. B. Something you call a dog. Or a little sister. I'm not your sister, Chris."

"...I know that."

"Yeah. Do you? It doesn't matter. Don't get yourself killed. I can't bury another legend. I'm all out of bullshit speeches and platitudes. I'm tired of heroes. And lies." She patted his arm, laughing mirthlessly, "I'll miss you. Stay safe."

Lies. What lies?

The ones that said you couldn't begin to love a woman you'd known for twenty years?

The ones that said you couldn't live in another man's world and covet it?

Yeah.

And the ones that said Chris Redfield had to stand alone against the world. That lie? It was the one that kept him: The Human Tank.

She moved down the stairs and into the kitchen. She made a cup of tea. She listened to him load up his truck.

She waited for the sound of diesel rolling down the drive.

So, this is what it was for her. Living on this ranch with her baby with Leon's memory. The memory of a man who'd never really let her in. Living on Leon Kennedy's ranch with the women who'd loved him and known him.

Not her.

She was just the girl who had his baby. The girl who tried to love him and lost him. The girl who'd never had the chance to know him.

God.

She wasn't titanium. She was poison. Everything she touched rotted and died...and left.

She lifted the teacup to her lips. She turned. And he was standing there...like a ghost or something. She startled and dropped it.

It tinkled in a broken mess on the floor.

His arms curled around her. She spilled against him, clinging.

Against her ear, he whispered, "I'll miss you too...Rebecca."

And let her go.

She waited until she heard the truck. She waited until he was gone.

And she put her face in her hands to shatter like glass...and nothing like titanium.

* * *

**Fall - 2018**

* * *

They stood on the horizon: the lab mouse and the thief and the former badass biker. Three women united in love for Leon Kennedy...

...And Chris Redfield.

They watched the sunrise together.

Jill said, "You know why he left."

"Do I?"

"You do. Look inside, what do you see?"

"...a mess." Rebecca laughed, wetly, "A mess. Titanium, he called me. I'm not, Jill. That's you. It's Claire. I'm just a scientist who got lucky and didn't die."

Claire tapped her boot, glancing at Jill. They held blue eyes, lips pursed. Claire finally mused, "Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. On that rooftop? I laid there while your brother rushed around fighting for me. While Leon..." She trailed off, shaking her head, "They saved me. I always need saved. I'm a coward. I'm a fool. I'm not strong. I'm always looking for a man to save me."

Jill tilted her head, considering her. "Is that what you see, Claire? A coward?"

Claire sipped her beer, speculative, "Nope. I don't see that. I saw it the other day though. It's doing fine, for a big baby. It ran out outta here like it's ass was on fire."

Jill laughed, "Ah. Yes. The squish. A coward at the core. Bravest mother fucker around...until you throw a girl at him with feelings."

Claire nodded, sagely, "Yes. The Leon Kennedy special too, it seems. They are great in a fire fight."

Jill added, "Good in a storm."

"Yep. Awesome against an army of undead."

And Jill returned, "And fucking chickens about love."

"Oh, without a doubt. Leon was the worst."

Jill considered this and added, "Nah. Redfield? That guy wouldn't know love if you slapped him in the face with it. And then? He'd just try to punch it in the face so it would go away."

"Naturally," Claire watched Rebecca, considering her, "You don't need a man, honey. You want one. You like one. You dig their humor and their dicks. You let them love you or lean on you or build something together. You make them a partner and a friend. But you don't need them. You just think you do."

Jill nodded, crossing her long legs, "We're engineered to think we need them. But really? We just want one so we aren't alone."

Claire glanced between them, "Anybody alone at this table?"

Jill grinned, brightly, "I'm not. And we gots us another beautiful girl waiting to join our club. It's Sex in the City up in here now. Who needs men?"

Rebecca laughed and they joined hands around the table. "Easy for you two to say, you've got men waiting on you down there."

Jill laughed, easy going as always, "You mean Ben? He's ass, darlin, not the father of my children. He knows that."

Claire considered the situation, "I like Devon. He's friendly. He's fun. I'll let him be my boyfriend."

Amused, Jill studied her, "Yeah?"

"Yeah. Why not? You seen his ass?"

Jill laughed, brightly. Rebecca giggled a little.

Claire grinned, "It's no Leon Kennedy's ass. But I won't kick it outta bed for fartin."

Rebecca, tongue in cheek, asked sweetly, "How's the fuckin?"

And Claire choked on her beer to hear her little voice say "fuckin". "It's doable. A question."

"Hmm?"

"How was Leon's?"

Jill perked up, interested, "Oh. OH. Share. Please."

Rebecca laughed lightly, happy. She was happy. Here with these women. Friends.

Happy with friends.

"...desperate. And kinda whirlwind."

Claire shivered. Jill sighed, "Like a jackhammer?"

Rebecca laughed again, delighted, "No...like...the perfect storm."

Claire sighed. Jill sighed. Rebecca sighed.

Jill glanced at Claire, put her tongue in her cheek, and replied, "Chris is a jackhammer."

Claire made a barfing face and put her hands over her ears but she was laughing.

Rebecca and Jill held eyes. Jill grinned, bright and eager, "Jackhammer. Just sayin."

Rebecca pursed her lips, eyes twinkling. "Hmm."

"...all night." Jill sipped her beer, droll. "And no strings."

They laughed. Claire remarked, "Ugh. UGH. That's my BROTHER, bitches. My brother. I'm gonna hurl." And then she considered and said, "Although I'm glad he's good at it. I'd hate for him to bring shame to the Redfield name."

Laughing, Rebecca considered, "You have a name amongst the bioterror world...a name amongst the no-strings-attached-sex world...A Redfield: A punch in the face that ends in an orgasm - and nobody expects you to call afterward."

Claire laughed, thrilled. Jill nodded sagely, "Sounds about right."

Rebecca shook her head in amusement, sipping her drink. And Jill glanced at Claire then back at Rebecca and said, "Additionally, RC, there's...the dining. Chris...likes to...go out to eat..."

She squinted, tryting to decide how best to phrase it and not alarm or disgust Claire.

Rebecca lifted her brows. Claire paused with her beer to her mouth. She blinked. And then she shouted, "GROSS JILL! GROSS!"

Jill was heehawing with laughter now.

"GROSS! I can never LOOK AT MY BROTHER AGAIN!"

Rebecca inquired, brows lifted, "What did I miss here?"

And Claire shouted, "This bitch is saying my brother likes to "eat out"!"

Jill couldn't stop laughing. Rebecca felt her face flame. Claire looked half amused, half horrorifed. "OH MY GOD! Am I supposed to have lunch with him now!? He eats a tuna fucking sammich and I'm gonna barf!"

Jill mused, "He did enjoy a nice Jill sammich in his day."

Claire threw beer at her, snorting, "You nasty, hateful woman! I despise you!"

Jill grabbed Rebecca's hand and squeezed, chuckling. "Just saying, RC. JUST SAYIN. He's good at lip service too. When Chris has a conversation with your lips , y-"

Claire shouted with laughter again, "Stop! For all that is holy, STOP! I will never be able to look him in the face again!"

Jill couldn't stop the giggling. Rebecca was thinking about what it would be like to be a Rebecca sammich. Claire looked ill.

The silence spilled around them, the laughter died down, but they all sat there amused and enjoying themselves.

Finally, Rebecca mused, "Leon could speak in like...ten languages."

And Claire laughed loudly, "Now see? THAT!? That just makes me jealous."

And they laughed.

And laughed.

They laughed, happy to objectify men in their circle. Happy to forget about the grief that came with loving them.

And it was ok...for just a little while, it was all ok.


	8. Chapter 8

**Colder Weather**

* * *

"_Incredible change happens in your life when you decide to take control of what you do have power over instead of craving control over what you don't."_  
― Steve Maraboli, Life, the Truth, and Being Free

* * *

**Redfield, North Dakota - Winter- 2018**

* * *

The little cabin where his parents had spent countless summers sent plumes of smoke into the swirling winter sky. This was his resting place, his place where he went to find his peace. It was his sanctuary.

What was it Superman had?

His fortress of solitude.

He sat listening to the snow fall beyond the window, wondering what good came from solitude. In most of his life, it had been his preogative to be alone. Safer alone. Cleaner. Smoother. No ties. No strings. No traps.

And no one available to be used to torture.

If you loved nothing, you lost nothing. If you lived alone, you protected anyone who cared about you.

So?

He lived alone.

And he'd never in his life been lonely.

He was lonely now.

He missed the comfort of a daily routine. He missed the sunrise on the lake. The fucking lake. Kennedy was always talking about his damn lake. "You gotta see it man, it's like...this moment of utter bliss. There's nothing but sky and water and peace. You'll never want to leave.

He'd laughed, "You fucking girl. On Golden Pond over here waxing romantic about a body of water."

The joke was on him. It really was. Because Kennedy? He was right. There was nothing more peaceful than sky and lake and land.

He'd gone back to the battle. He'd spent weeks in the mud and muck and blood and thick of it all. It was the first time he'd come back from a mission empty. There was nothing there for him to come home to.

Just this empty cabin.

And he finally understood Leon Kennedy's struggle. What came after the fight? When you finally ran out of darkness to battle, what came next?

In this case? It was nothing.

He had nothing waiting for him.

And it was the first time he'd felt the hardest hit of regret he'd ever known.

He'd spared the pain of loving a woman. He'd spared the pain of raising a family.

And he was alone.

He'd never known the pain of it until he'd sat in Kennedy's chair, played his god damn guitar, and raised his fucking kid. And now?

Now he was washed in it. Because he missed the ranch. Yeah, he did.

But he grieved the kid. Jill left voicemails with her voice on his phone. He listened to them so much he was surprised he couldn't mimic her laughter.

He wanted the kid and for a man that didn't want for anything, it was a hard truth to face.

And what was worse?

He fucking missed Rebecca. Not like he missed Jill when she was gone. Not like that. Jill was his soul twin. His partner in crime. His other piece. It wasn't sexual, not entirely, not for years. He loved Jill.

No hiding it. No lying. He loved her.

But he wasn't in love with her.

He might have been, once, if things had been different. But it had become the best love story never told. And they were better for it.

There wasn't any regret there. No even a little.

But there was regret here.

Because he missed the kid...and he missed her mother. And he didn't like himself for it.

He'd spent years overlooking her. They didn't run in the same circles. Not often. She was all science and behind the scenes. He was the fight and the fire. They didn't brush up on each other often enough to matter. Maybe four times in all the years after Raccoon City.

And then the thing with Arias. And the chopper. And her face while she'd sat there looking at Leon Kennedy.

He'd teased her. She'd laughed. No harm, no foul - no worries. But he'd seen her, maybe for the first time, as a woman that day. It would have been nothing, really. But the captivity had happened.

And their days were spent with each other. They'd become such strong friends. Thick as thieves, bonded like prisoners, but held together by mutual affection. They LIKED each other. It was that simple.

She made him laugh. She was so SURE they'd get away. She was so SURE Leon would come. Her faith was unshakeable.

What had Jill said about Leon when she was with him in recovery? I never poached, she said, not once. Not really.

He hadn't poached.

But he'd looked.

And he'd seen her, for the first time ever maybe. The little thing so often lost in the shadow of stronger women, bigger women, more classically beautiful women. But that was a bullshit cop-out too. Because he'd NEVER met anyone stronger.

She wasn't a punch in the face. She was a whisper in the dark.

And the power of her faith was stronger than any bullet, any bomb, any punch in the face he'd ever delivered. Because it was titanium. It was impenetrable. She KNEW what waited in the dark. She knew what waited in the beyond. She knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that this isn't where her story ended.

He'd been drawn to that first, that strength.

The love? That had come naturally. I'm not your sister, she'd said. And he knew that. He knew it. And he'd never seen her that way.

He wished he could. It would make things easier to see her that way.

He wouldn't lie awake at night picturing her naked and bucking.

Lord.

He shifted and looked out over the snowy horizon. It was time to make moves toward building something for himself. Enough coveting Leon Kennedy's life.

He was CHRIS REDFIELD.

It was time to make his own.

But he picked up the phone to listen to Faith's voicemail and he just kept staring out into the snow.

* * *

**Silver Lake Montana - Winter - 2019**

* * *

Mid January in Montana was colder than a well digger's ass. It was all snow and frozen tundra.

"You're sure?"

They stood in the snow, surrounded by most of the ranch hands. Rebecca finished loading up the Jeep, she grinned and hugged Jill - tight and hard.

"I'm sure. Never been more sure of anything in my life. It's what he'd want. You're ok with it?"

"You kidding? I can't think of anything I'd want more."

They were teary eyed as they held on to each other. And Rebecca said, "I can feel him here. Only here. I have to leave, now, for me, for awhile. To stop feeling him."

Jill nodded, stroking a hand over her face, "Is it ok that I..." She trailed off, choking up a bit.

Rebecca cupped her face as two fat tears plopped on her cheeks, "Is it ok that you want to stay here and feel him?"

Jill shook her head, making a small sound of grief, "I'm sorry. It sounds so stupid to say it out loud."

"No. No. I think it sounds just right. You loved him. And this place? It fits you, Jill. It suits you. He'd want someone who loved it like he did to run it. That was never me. I can't love this place just because he did. That's not me." She kissed her, soft and loving, "Take care of him for me."

Jill nodded, teary eyed, "You have everything you need?"

"More than," Rebecca touched her sleeping twenty month old daughter. She touched his Jeep. She touched Excalibur, "I have everything I need and more. Christmas?"

"Definitely. Drive safe."

"I will. I love you, Jill."

"I love you, Rebecca Chambers."

Rebecca hopped in the driver seat and fired up the engine. It purred, happy and loved. She stroked a hand over the dashboard, smiling.

Jill knocked on the glass and she lowered the window, smiling.

And the thief said, "There was an outbreak in Flat Rock River, Minnesota. Airport mess like Harvardville but smaller scale. Good intel shut it down before it got beyond the airport itself."

They locked eyes. Rebecca smiled at her.

And Jill added, "Could use some help on determining the point of origin though...and what strain it is."

Rebecca put her tongue in her cheek, "Hmm. You're not going?"

Jill grinned at her and patted the door of the Jeep, "Well...didn't you hear? They couldn't get the Executioner, of course, but they don't need the Immortal either. Know why?"

Rebecca laughed, shaking her head, "They already have the Human Tank?"

"Bingo, kid. Watch out for that black ice. It's murder."

Rebecca drove to the main road. She waited for the crushing feeling of leaving Leon behind her. She waited to feel it in her guts and her blood. But she was good.

She was GOOD.

She had all she needed of him in this Jeep with her.

And the memory of what might have been left on the ranch where Jill Valentine sat in his chair and communed with his ghost.

Jill turned back to face the house. I can feel him here, Rebecca said. And she was right.

He was here. He was still here. Aloud, Jill mused, "What a guy you are, Leon Kennedy, to haunt girls long after you're gone. I'll make you proud here, I swear to God I will."

The wind rustled...and she was pretty sure that was a little show of faith that offered his answer.

And Jill Valentine became the girl who'd never been afraid to live with the ghost of Leon Kennedy.

* * *

**Flat Rock River, Minnesota - Winter - 2019**

* * *

The cold was impreggnable here. It was murder. It left you breathless and trembling.

It was ok there too. She'd gotten used to Montana cold. This wasn't any worse. It was lake effect. It was something to feel it. She'd lived in Chicago for years. She could handle cold.

She caught glimpses of Quint and Keith huddled around a trashcan fire as she rolled up in the Jeep. They were ear muffed and hunkered around the flames, shaking and likely cursing Chris Redfield for making them work in the early stages of a snowstorm.

Rebecca alighted, glancing at the curling trails of smoke from the still burning airport. The late stages, clearly, either sanitation was occurring or it was left over burning from a crash or explosion. The smell of acrid destruction tickled the nostrils.

Quint saw her first and laughed madly, waving, "CHAMBERS! Holy fat fuck on the back of a naked mermaid! Whatcha doin here!?"

Quint was always colorful. He had no filter. He was a complete mess emotionally. He was often rude and missing social graces. He was thin faced with big ears and a concave skinny frame. His hang dog face was perpetually grinning.

She kinda loved him.

Keith was handsome in a stick thin Denzel pre-Training Day kinda way. He was trying to grow a beard and failing. The patchwork mess on his dark skin was amusing beneath the ugly sock hat he wore.

They were call signs Jackass and Grinder. Terrible names. But always together - which somehow made them sound like a crime fighting duo in a bad sitcom.

Rebecca grinned and accepted his hug. Her big purple parka insulated her like a electric blanket. The hat she wore left her face carefully shrouded. The scarf looped at her neck protected her cheeks and lips from wind burn.

She answered, hugging Keith as he wandered over, "I heard you might need some extra hands."

"You fucking bet we do!" Quint grinned, "But I heard you retired."

"Hah. No. Just...taking some time off."

Keith and Quint both nodded, looking sad. Keith remarked, "Heard about the baby though, congrats."

"Thank you. She's wonderful."

Quint shifted a little, "Shame about Kennedy. That cat was a fucking god. Scary to think we're mortal huh? I think we forget sometimes."

Rebecca smiled softly, "You're right about that."

Quint gestured with his head, "You need to speak to Leonidas over there if you want to know where we need ya. He's got us out here freezing our tits off to protect the pass or something from Xerxes. Like if we go home to warm up our sacks, the zombies are gonna rise again and start killing the 8 people that live in this tiny ass town."

Keith snorted a little. Rebecca laughed lightly, "I think I will. Maybe I can get him to ease off a little huh?"

"I'll kiss your sweet cheeks if you do it, Chambers. No lie there."

Rebecca winked and opened the back door of the Jeep. Faith was awake and bundled, grinning at her.

Quint peeped in and grinned back, "The kid is cute, man! Keith look at this kid! It's Kennedy right?"

Keith smiled gently and patted Rebecca's arm, "She does look like him. She's beautiful."

"Thank you." Rebecca picked her up and she giggled, "I'll head over to the tent and see what's up."

Quint grinned at her, "Maybe dinner later? We're all going to the diner down by the hotel after we're done here."  
"Sure. Sounds like fun."

"Awesome. Good to see you, Chambers. Bye offspring!"

Offspring. What a thing to call a kid. Rebecca had to laugh.

Faith waved her mitten as Rebecca wandered toward the tent with her.

In the command tent, Chris was leaning over the table in the small lighted area with Barry Burton and Josh Stone. They were coordinating, clearly, on whatever mission had just gone down or was fixing to. Barry saw her first and grinned, waving.

Chris, with his back to her, was pointing at something on his war table. It looked like little chess pieces and a map. He moved one, Josh nodded, and he moved it back.

He was filthy. She could see the curls of old soot on his neck and ears. His face was blackened with it. He'd gone into the fire at some point. He wore gray camouflage and the sleeves were curled up over his elbows leaving his forearms bare to his fingerless gloves. The sock hat in pale gray was pulled over his ears and singed at one corner. He had a walkie talkie clipped to his belt at his left hip and was wearing a vest strapped with ammo and first aid.

Rebecca waved back to Barry, Josh Stone turned - in his pea green BSAA uniform- and saw her, and nudged Chris with his elbow.

There are a handful of moments you never forget.

The first time you find out about Santa Claus.

The first time you kiss somebody you really like.

The first time you look into the face of your baby and wonder how you could love somebody so much that you just met.

And the moment you remember what matters in the world, when you've just about given up hope.

His walkie talkie crackled. He moved to grab it and answer as he turned, showing his face to Rebecca as she approached, and Faith let out a shriek that was so loud it startled the other workers that were around them.

"DADDY!"

Rebecca's heart stopped. She actually threw her hand to her chest to start it again.

Faith struggled in her arms to be put down, desperately. Rebecca set her down, unable to hold on to her.

Barry shifted in the tent, grinning. "I hear that right?"

Josh was grinning too, "Pretty sure she wasn't talking about you, old man."

The bearded red head laughed, unoffended.

That wasn't even the best part.

The little thing waddling through the snow was determined. She was laughing high and bright and happy. Like she'd seen Santa.

"DADDY! DADDY!"

Barry was watching Chris. And there was nothing like that moment, mused the older man, the second you see your kid after a long mission. That look on his old friend's face? That was what joy looked like. It was what being a father looked like.

He'd never thought he'd see it on Chris. It warmed the cockles of his old heart to know he could still be surprised at his age. And that he wasn't immune to happiness. Because he felt it now for Chris Redfield.

Chris dropped the walkie talkie on the table. He turned and...he laughed.

He laughed.

And Barry couldn't remember the last time he'd heard him laugh.

More than that? He grinned.

And in the middle of a place mired in death and sadness, there was just a little bit of joy. Josh mused, "I didn't know he had children."

Barry smiled, crossing his big arms, "Funny thing about that. Neither did I."

The mountain and the baby met in the snow like two reunited puzzle pieces. He scooped her up, tossing her high with a squeal, and she landed and grabbed his ears. She slobbered all over his face. She kissed his laughing mouth.

She squealed, "COLD!"

And he answered, gruffly, "Not anymore. Where ya been, my girl? Where?"

She grabbed his big neck and clung, eyes twinkling like little blue stars in her cold pinked face.

Faith kissed his cheek, giggling at the tickling beard. "Daddy! SHOO SHOO!" She touched his dirty face and looked charmingly offended by it, "Shoo-shoo!"

"I would have showered if I'd known I had a date."

Faith batted her lashes at him, "Daddy - kiss?"

"You little flirt - who says no?" He kissed her while she giggled and blew raspberry on her neck.

Barry glanced at Josh. Stone looked like he'd seen Redfield fart on a zombie or something. Admittedly, it was a shock. In all the time he'd known him, had he ever thought Chris would want children?

Maybe, in the beginning, but it had been lost somewhere under the fight. Whatever else was true? That kid loved Chris Redfield. She kept rubbing his ears and cooing at him.

Rebecca came up beside them, smiling in the semi-darkness. "What kind of tank stands in the cold giggling over a baby?"

He grinned at her while Faith put her ear on his shoulder and clung, rubbing at his chest where she gripped, "The stupid kind. I stayed away too long."

"I'd agree with that statement." She held his gaze for a long moment. And went with truth again, "I missed you."

The warmth on his face softened further. His turned his hand over and Rebecca took it, squeezing. And he answered her, softly, "I missed you guys too, B."

A plural statement. A safe statement. She was looking for something that wasn't here.

Rebecca patted his hand with her other one, keeping the smile on her face, "We're here now. I'd love to help. Think you can keep her while I offer my services out there?"

"Happy to. They could use some help in the medic tent."

"Ah...back to my roots, it seems."

He grinned a little. "Once a medic, always a medic huh?"

"That's the rumor." They were still holding hands. A simple little shift and their fingertips brushed. His thumb swept the inside of her wrist. Tiny things. Meaningless.

Meaningful.

"I'll get to stitching up booboos, then." She let go.

Their fingers trailed apart.

And she left him in the snow with her laughing daughter.

It wasn't a bad way to reunite.

She went into the medic tent aching a little and unsure why.

An easy dinner. A friendly reunion of comrades and friends. Laughter and drinks and stories. About Leon. About life. About loss.

The diner was quaint and friendly. It was an homage to Canada that made her remember the one where she'd faced off against Ada Wong and had the first of many verbal spars.

A maple leaf hung over the booth where she sat, one leg drawn up comfortably, coffee at her hand on the table.

Faith sat with Chris across from her. She was showing her drawings. She was getting all the attention.

It felt good to let her.

Faith was pulling Barry's beard. Quint and Keith were reminiscing about Terragrigia and how it was WARM THERE. Quint kept calling Minnesota "colder than a well digger's ass."

Rebecca was watching the waitress behind the counter serve truckers that were coming in off the icy roads. Josh and Mira were at the bar sharing fries and showing each other things on their phones.

Lots of laughter.

It felt REALLY good to her.

Better than she'd felt on that ranch. Better than she'd felt in a long time. The only time she'd been really happy there was with Claire and Jill and Chris around her. Alone? She'd never felt right there.

Rebecca turned her head to watch Faith get a raspberry on her belly by Barry and laugh wildly and loudly. Rebecca's mouth turned up in a grin. She reached for her coffee and found it gone.

Her eyes drifted over the table.

His sock hat was on the red vinyl top. His hair was sticking up with static and sweat. He had a smoke tucked behind one dirty ear. He really was filthy. Terribly. Nothing handsome at all in the mess of it.

Soot was smeared from one side of his face and up his nose to his eyebrows mixed with blood from a shallow cut on his chin. It made them look like thick black worms on his face. A good face - under all the dirt. Something saved it from being too handsome - some line of jaw or crooked slant of nose.

Someone had broken that nose at some point. She knew he'd been a football player and a wrestler in highschool. Maybe there.

Maybe in all the fighting he'd done since.

A good face to stare at though. Nothing the same in the features. He was half bearded, his lashes were super long and pretty - seeing as he had Claire's eyes in his face, and his mouth was full over those perfect teeth. Big ears in a charming way that highlighted the horrible state of his hair above it. She could see the salt and pepper in his hair - but he'd been going gray as long as she'd known him. It was flattering.

Filthy though. Just slick with oil, soot, sweat and survival. His eyes were insanely blue behind the black. Shot through with green and gold. They were beautiful on Claire.

They were better on her brother.

Plenty worth looking at.

He was sipping her coffee and watching her.

She tilted her head, looking back. He had a little teasing crook to his mouth that she liked. Made sense. He'd stolen her coffee. One of his arms was propped on the table at the elbow. He was stroking a single finger over his chin contemplatively - tracing the slight cleft there.

She liked the directness of his looking at her. She always had. No games here. He didn't wink and coo and flirt. He just...looked right at you.

Rebecca tilted her head, brow lifted curiously. He shrugged one shoulder like she'd verbalized a question. A conversation without words.

She smiled, warming. She bit her lip to stop a little laugh. She watched it happen. He looked at her mouth and back at her face.

Oh.

Her belly quivered a little.

Faith was laughing loudly while Barry tickled her. It was a bright, happy back drop. There was a clatter of dishes behind the counter. Someone cold out an order for waffles. A noisy place - filled with excitement and movement.

He didn't bother to look away from her.

She'd have PAID someone to know what he was thinking.

He was thinking about her naked. It wasn't the first time he'd done. The first time - he'd been touring with her for an afternoon on Bravo Team as a backup. She'd bent down to pick something up and he'd looked at her butt. Why not? He was a guy. She was a girl. She was younger than his sister, sure, but she was a girl.

She was small and skinny. He'd wondered if his dick was bigger than her. So he'd looked and pictured her naked.

He'd joked with her on the chopper when she'd been mooning on Kennedy. Harmless. But not really. He'd meant it. He generally didn't bother to flirt. He just told the truth. He could have stolen her from Kennedy that day with a simple throw down but it wasn't his style. He didn't bother with girls most days.

He hadn't looked again until their time in the castle.

He couldn't stop looking now. She was fuller now. She had been since her pregnancy. She was big enough chested even post breastfeeding that she had a nice spill of cleavage in that v-neck sweater she wore.

He looked. Naturally. It was there. She watched it happen.

Oh, it was a good feeling.

She tilted her head back the other way, grinning now. She took one of his cigarettes from the pack on the table between them. She didn't light it, she poked it behind her ear like a mirror of him.

The leg she had under the table shifted. Her sock clad foot found his calf and rubbed, absently.

Eyes on each other, his hand caught her foot under the table and stroked the arch of it with his thumb. Simple. Friendly.

She rolled her bottom lip under her teeth, laughing lightly.

And his mouth tilted in a half smile.

Quint shouted, "B! B! You hear this shit?! You hear this!? Keith said you can survive with BAT DNA mixed with yours! WHAT THE FIGGITY FUCK!? You ever heard anything so damn dumb? He says his brother was bit by a bat and TURNED INTO ONE GENETICALLY! Like a comic book! Like Spiderman! HAHA! OH HAHAHA!"

Quint was heehawing so loud you had to be charmed by it.

She kept looking at Chris. He shook his head, holding that half smile.

And he said, "Welcome home, B."

And that? That felt perfect.

He played Blackbird for Faith to get her to sleep.

Rebecca heard him sing softly while she showered. She heard his voice grumble as the baby drifted off.

He knocked on the bathroom door, quietly, and said through it, "She's down. You mind if I hang for a bit and play?"

Rebecca stood in the swirling heat, looking at her face in the foggy mirror, "Nope. I brought it for you. Help yourself."

A moment in time. And, "Thanks."

There was no Leon Kennedy here. It was the first time she'd been able to breathe since he died.

Welcome home, B. And she felt more at home here, in the cold with these people, than she had the whole time she'd lived on that ranch. She'd loved the man who'd owned it.

But he'd never been home for her.

She stood in the shower listening.

He didn't disappoint her.

_She'd trade Colorado if he'd take her with him_

_Closes the door before the winter lets the cold in,_

And wonders if her love is strong enough to make him stay,

_She's answered by the tail lights_

_Shining through the window pane_

Her hand flattened to the door. Her heart flattened to the floor.

_He said I wanna see you again_

_But I'm stuck in colder weather_

_Maybe tomorrow will be better_

_Can I call you then_

_She said you're ramblin' man_

_You ain't ever gonna change_

_You gotta gypsy soul to blame_

_And you were born for leavin'_

**"He's so lonely, Rebecca. Aren't you lonely?"**

She was. But not for anyone.

She was lonely for him.

_Well it's a winding road_

_When you're in the lost and found_

_You're a lover I'm a runner_

_We go 'round 'n 'round_

_And I love you but I leave you_

_I don't want you but I need you_

_You know it's you who calls me back here_

Her heart was hammering now. In her chest.

**_"Find your truth, Rebecca."_**

_When I close my eyes I see you_

_No matter where I am_  
_I can smell your perfume through these whispering pines_  
_I'm with your ghost again_  
_It's a shame about the weather_  
_I know soon we'll be together_  
_And I can't wait 'til then_  
_I can't wait 'til then_

What was her truth?

She'd loved Leon Kennedy.

She loved his daughter.

She didn't love his life.

It wasn't for her. What did that mean? That his life wasn't for her?

Would it have been with him in it?

A scary truth was to say no. No. If he'd lived, she'd have come to enjoy living on that ranch with him. But she'd never feel at home.

What did it mean that her life was here, with this ragtag group of weirdos, like gypsies on the road with no real place to call home? What did mean that her home...was wherever Chris Redfield was?

She didn't know. She only knew that she was tired of trying to find answers. She just wanted to find her truth.

And her truth wanted her to stop thinking...and just live.

Her hand shook. But she turned the knob.

She pushed into the room.

And went to find her truth.

There was a moment when one of them could have said something. Or should have said something.

He didn't have the guitar.

He did, however, have his pistol aimed at her where she stood.

The television was muted by on the news. Some kind of war footage in the middle east somewhere. No more wars, she thought, no more lives torn apart.

It was enough of that.

He kept the pistol on her longer than he should have, honestly. It was almost amusing. Would he shoot her, she wondered, for encroaching into his fortress of solitude?

She shifted away from the closed door. He was still filthy. Shirtless and filthy in dirty fatigues. And he held a gun on her and stood between her and her baby like a shield.

**"_My shield against the world." Claire had said. "He's my greatest protector."_**

And now Faith's.

And hers.

Her brows lifted at the gun between them. He actually looked slightly embarrassed to be still be holding it.

He set it on the top of the wardrobe where Faith couldn't reach it.

His hand shook a little and made her heart race with it.

He said, quietly, "I should have gone back to my own room."

Rebecca shook her head. Her heart hammered, her voice was shaky, "I don't want you to leave."

She hooked a hand into the waistband of his dirty pants and pulled him forward.

Ten seconds.

The amount of time she spent kissing Chris Redfield in her hotel room.

His hands didn't touch her. She went up on tiptoe to reach him. She cupped the back of his neck to bring him down.

And he didn't stop her either.

Ten seconds.

A good amount of time to find out your truth.

No touching. No hands. He kept those at his sides. She breathed, against his frozen mouth, "He's not here. We are. We're here, Chris. Kiss me back."

His hand lowered. It cupped her face, not easily, rough. His fingers rubbed the back of her neck and tilted her up to him. He scanned her face. She showed him everything she could on it.

Everything she had.

He kissed her, testing, eyes open. She opened her mouth for his tongue. He was hardly touching her.

His mouth wasn't nearly as polite.

It was _alot_ _of_ teeth. _Alot of_ tongue. _Alot of_ wet lips and breathing.

She let go of his neck. She let go of his pants.

She kept hold of something else inside of him.

And she said, "It's good to be home, Chris. I missed you guys."

There. Plural. Like his had been.

Plural.

Her face was smeared with soot now too. She smiled. She stroked a thumb over the inside of his wrist and felt his racing pulse.

"...you're really, really disgusting...really gross..."

He let go of her face. She stepped back and climbed on her bed.

He moved passed without a word. He went right into her bathroom and shut the door...and she heard him laugh.

She pressed her hand to mouth to stifle her own.

It felt so good to laugh and to feel like, just maybe, she was finally finding out where she was supposed to be.

He hadn't gone back to his own room. He hadn't gone back there.

The clock above the bed bonged the hour and Rebecca put a pillow on her face to smother the nervous laughter.


	9. Chapter 9

**Can't Fight this Feeling**

* * *

_"No matter how difficult and painful it may be, nothing sounds as good to the soul as the truth."_

**-Martha Beck**

* * *

F**lat Rock River, Minnesota - 2019**

* * *

He came out of the shower to find her lying on the bed. The baby was there beside her, thumb in her mouth, watching the t.v.

Admittedly, he was disappointed...a little. Part of him had thought, what? He'd come out of the shower and fuck her bowlegged?

Yep. That was it exactly.

Amused, Chris slid onto the bed and Faith turned into his shirt and snuggled. She sighed happily and drifted into sleep. His other hand shifted, it opened. Rebecca laid hers in it over their heads where it rested. She draped her other arm over the baby and the man beside her.

They fell asleep together on her bed with Faith between them. She knew they were both aware of the shift in their dynamic here.

She was aware of him in ways she hadn't been before.

Because now she knew, he knew, THEY knew...there was no pretending to just be friends.

His eyes watched the flickering television screen. His hand shifted and skimmed over the outside of her thigh beneath her nightgown. Just his thumb. Just a little, stroking the back of her leg almost absently.

She trembled and drew his eyes to her. His hand slid along the inside of her knee, testing. Hers shifted and slid under the sleeve of his shirt, skimming his biceps.

His thumb stroked, just once, over the smooth softness of her panties - against the heat of her. And her hand curled around his arm and tightened, pleasing him.

His mouth turned up in a half smile. He didn't touch her more than that. He left his thumb against her and curled his fingers around her thigh to hold her there. Nothing really. Just a touch. Just his hand resting so easily between her legs.

Good god.

She quivered.

She fell asleep beside him while he watched her face. He vibrated with the need to shift her panties aside and touch her.

Instead, he slid his hand off her and put it safely back on her hip.

He pressed a kiss to Faith's warm forehead and sighed.

When Rebecca woke, he was gone.

She rolled to her back to stare at the ceiling above the bed. A kiss, that was all it was, a kiss. It didn't have to be more than that. It was over and done. The seed was planted.

Would it grow?

The shadows didn't have the answer.

The next few weeks were busy and dirty and rewarding. The mess was cleared, the infection controlled, they stood together at the end of every day like a family - laughing and eating and relaxing.

She'd missed it. Her time in STARS - before the fall - had been some of the best in her life.

She was back in the fold of a family. It felt really good.

Faith was the star of the show wherever they went. Everyone adored her. She was the star of the post office, of the local market, of the walk down main street.

Rebecca discovered something one day while she was in town dropping off reports to be sent back to HQ via courier - Flat Rock River felt more like home to her than Leon's ranch ever had. It felt more like home than Chicago where she'd lived for years. It felt more like home than Raccoon City - before she'd fled for her life.

She looked at Faith - laughing in the diner with Gustav and his wife Yvonne who owned and ran it - and she felt something shift in her.

Across from her, Barry lifted his brows in the booth, "What's the face?"

"The face is the truth. My truth. I think I know what it is." She rose. She kissed Barry's cheek, "I gotta bow out of duty this afternoon. Tell the bossman...tell him I've been waiting for this moment to arise."

Grinning, Barry watched her move to the counter and speak earnestly with the nice German couple.

Whatever was happening here, was he was glad to see it. He'd spent too long seeing the sadness on all of them. It was good, great, wonderful - to see the hope again.

Rebecca leaped out of the Jeep into the snow. She laughed and twirled.

Curious, Chris climbed out of his truck where he'd parked behind her.

Cute little house, small but functional, what did they call it? A bungalow style. It was a pretty pale gold color with a nice white porch. It was nestled on a chunk of land with a barn. There was a horse milling around near the barn and some chickens pecking at the snow near a house surrounded by fencing.

Rebecca grinned at him and announced, "What do you think?"

He shrugged in his parka, "About what? Global warming? I think it's a lie."

Rebecca gave him a narrow look, "Science would argue with you there, pal, but not about that. About this. This house. This place."

"Cute. Who's is it?"

She grinned, "Mine. I bought it. Leon's place? Never mine. This place? MINE."

Something shifted in his chest a little. He watched her twirl in the snow. From inside the house, Claire emerged holding Faith who shouted with joy when she saw him.

Claire put her down, Faith waddled in the snow toward him, and Chris knelt to pick her up.

A moment passed and he asked, "You're staying here?"

"I am. I think it's right. I think this is my place."

Claire touched her arm, rubbing, "I think you're right about that. You want all this fucking snow though?"

"Oh, yeah. Yeah. I'm a midwest girl. The snow and I? Compadres. Big time. They offered me a job." She grinned, wide and happy, "Science. Professor at the college. I'm thinking about taking it."

Shit.

The same arrow stabbed in his guts. "Yeah?"

Claire was grinning wide and happy, "Take it. Seriously. Get out of the game. Let it rest. Leon? He'd want that."

Rebecca waved that away, "I don't actually know what he'd want."

Claire looked a little surprised.

Rebecca laughed, lightly, "It's ok. We can say it. He was a great guy. He liked me a lot. I loved him. Sorta madly. Kinda nutso. I didn't know him. You did. Jill did. I didn't. He never let me in. Ever. The ranch? His things? It was his way of doing that. I know that. He tried. I think he might have or we would have been ok if he'd lived. But he didn't. He's gone. What he wanted? It can't be the reason I plan my life, Claire. It can't be."

She hugged her, hard. Claire was a little misty-eyed. "I miss him. Hard not to. He was so great. He was this lost soul. He saved me like I saved him. It was pretty fucking perfect...and so very brief. Would it have been more? I think so. But it doesn't matter anymore."

Rebecca turned to look at Chris. The look was pointed and hard. "He's gone. He's been gone for almost two years. And this house isn't his. It's mine. This place is mine. He'll live on for his daughter through everyone that loved him. Including me. But he's not here."

The snow drifted. It tossed flakes across his lashes.

The sun was bright and high.

She said it again, slow and pointed, "He's not here. And it's a fool that sits around waiting for him to come back...or trying to live with the guilt of moving on. Life is for the living. He knew that better than anyone. It was something that bonded us. And I don't do him any honors by dying in the grave beside him."

Claire cupped her face. They looked at each other. "...you go, girl." Soft. Strong. And redeeming.

She turned back into the house.

Rebecca stood in the snow looking at Chris across the divide.

Faith kissed his cheek.

Chris mused, "You cut yourself off from him to drown the sorrow of it?"

Stubborn mule of a man. He just didn't get it.

And Rebecca said again, "Maybe it was his way to pick up the bottle and drown his sorrows. It was never mine. He's not here. And this is my place. You're always welcome here."

"Am I?"

"Wherever I am, you're welcome there. Always. You know that. You think I can't have loved Leon Kennedy and let him go. But that's the thing about love, Chris. It's everywhere. And it's here, in this house, for you. What you do with that truth, that's on you."

She turned around left him standing in the snow.

At the door, she tilted her head at him, "If you get cold enough out here, feel free to come inside." And she went inside her house.

It wasn't very long before he followed. He waited to feel the pain of guilt at it. But there was no guilt. Just...hope.

They spent the evening with the whole crew fixing the house up. It was a matter of emptying out old boxes and cleaning. It was painting and laughing and replacing appliances.

The furniture they wrangled up came from locals. It was fun and easy and filled with light.

The couch took three tries to get in the house because Quint kept leaping on it while Barry and Chris tried to pick it up and carry it. The third time he did it, Chris grabbed him by his shirt and the seat of his pants and chucked him face first into the snow.

Dinner was boxes of pizza and bottles of pop, beer, and water. There were lots of questions about the job. Would she take it? Would she retire from the BSAA to do it? Was she done with the game entirely?

She answered the best she could.

The cold was a nice place to find your feelings. The big truck that rolled up beside Chris' was equipped with a huge brush guard on the front like glasses.

The man that alighted from it startled Rebecca where she was feeding the chickens.

She dropped the bag of food all over the ground. Concerned, the man moved over to help her clean it up. And as he moved? He shook his shaggy hair out of his face. "Hey...hey you ok?"

The face wasn't Leon. Of course not. Not him. But kinda him. Maybe him in a way no one else in the world ever would be.

Rebecca breathed, "Who are you?"

And from the porch, Barry shouted, "Ryman! You made it! Get your fucking ass in here and fix this breaker!"

Of course. Naturally. Ryman. Kevin Ryman from Raccoon City. She remembered the jokes now. The laughter. And Leon quipping, "We're twins...dontcha know? But Ryman? He always misses!"

Good natured ribbing. And Ryman had stood at their side when they'd come for her.

Rebecca mused, "Kevin Ryman."

"So, they tell me."

They held eyes in the setting sun. And she said, softly, "You look like him."

"So, they tell me too." He touched her arm, rubbing a little, "I'm sorry as hell about him. I am. I never met a stronger man. Ever. I want you to know, when he was in the hospital, he never gave up. Ever. He knew you were out there. He knew. And he never gave up."

She nodded, heart pounding a little. "Jesus, this is surreal." And she laughed.

Ryman smiled lightly and set her bag of food up on the bench beside her coop. He even wore a fucking faded leather bomber jacket like Leon. It was insane. The beard on his face was probably a week old and his chin had a hooking scar that had probably come from a licker.

Rebecca intoned, "Thank you. For coming that night. You didn't know me. You didn't have to do any of that. I'll never forget it."

To please herself? She hugged him. This guy she'd just met. This guy who looked like Leon. She hugged him. And he just..hugged back. Because she'd heard that too. That he was all heart.

"You're welcome. Jill - she's one of my best friends in the world. And Kennedy? He earned the loyalty. Chris? He's an assface, but I love him like a brother, so there was no where else I'd ever be but where they needed me."

Yeah. All heart.

Claire was leaning on the porch, watching them, "I'll be a monkey's uncle, you showed up."

He turned. He grinned. He moved up the porch to hug her and lifted her off her feet against him. She laughed and smacked his ass.

And it was girl radar. It was something. But Rebecca watched her face as he went into the house. And she saw those blue eyes linger. She waited for it and there it was. Claire tucked her lower lip into her mouth and laughed a little.

No.

GIGGLED a little.

Claire turned back to her. They held eyes. And Claire lifted both brows, "What?"

Rebecca pointed to her eyes. She pointed to Claire. She pointed to the house. "What was that?"

"What was what?"

Rebecca poked a hand on her hip. Claire gave her a deadpan expression. The silence dragged. Kevin laughed in the house and her face? It just...lit up.

Finally, Claire mused, quietly, "Shut up, Chambers. Stupid scientist girl. Think you're so smart."

She went back inside herself, chuckling.

Rebecca laughed, delighted. Life went on, it seemed, even when we were looking to hold on to what was left behind. Life went on. Even if it showed up and made your heart stop to remember what was gone.

They painted. They laughed. They had a great time. Kevin managed to fix the box and avoid calling an electrician.

And Rebecca found Chris on the back porch smoking.

With the laughter in the house behind them, she leaned on the column to watch him, "I think I need to tender my resignation."

In the dark, his eyes looked silver. He blew out a smoke ring and didn't bother to smile. It was something on his face she was trying to place, "Maybe you stay in an advisory capacity instead."

"Oh..." She grinned, "Like a special attache?"

"Something like that."

"What's the pay like?"

He glanced at her mouth. She shivered a little.

The pay seemed right. She'd never had a better offer.

They held gazes. Somebody dropped something in the house with a clatter. Faith started laughing like a loon. And Claire could be seen chasing her around the house whooping like an Indian. Beter than that? Along came Kevin Ryman pretending to be a raptor to get them both. Their laughter permeated. It bled. And it had Rebecca's heart hurting with happiness in her chest.

"Sure. Why not?" Rebecca watched his eyes as snowflakes settled on his nose and lips. "What's next for you?"

He shifted. Barry's grumbling voice floated into the dark. Quint farted so loud that someone started shrieking with laughter.

This was her life, she mused, it was pretty great.

Only one thing missing.

And it wasn't Leon Kennedy.

Not anymore.

Chris studied her face in the dark, "The fight goes on right? Until it's done."

"When is it done?"

"When it's done. When the fucking T-Virus is gone. When Wesker is done and stays done. It never ends, Rebecca. You know that."

No B. Rebecca. He was angry.

She shifted away from the column. He watched her. Her fingers tugged up the sweater he wore and slid underneath, stroking his stomach. He let her do that too, watching her face.

She leaned up to touch her mouth to his, speaking soft and low, "No one is asking you to quit here. Do you hear that when I talk? Is that why you're so mad? I know who you are."

His hands lifted and curled, hard, around her arms. He didn't push her away. He tugged her a little closer. Against her mouth, a hiss, "I'm not Leon Kennedy."

She fisted his sweater in her hands. "Who asked you to be?"

He was so mad. Why? She pressed her mouth to his, testing. That damn eyes open kissing of his, she liked it. He opened his mouth enough to sweep his tongue into her.

God.

She said it again, low and hard, "I know who you are."

She wondered if he knew who he was. And maybe that was why he was so mad.

She shivered. He set her back on her feet.

And he intoned, "Why here?"

She let go of him. She stepped back. Her voice carried in the quiet night. "You know why. This is the first place I've felt like me in a long time. Come back inside when you're done brooding. You're missing the party."

He was brooding. She was right about that. He didn't want her to quit.

He didn't want her to teach fucking science to snot-nosed college kids.

He wanted - what? What did he want?

He wanted her with him. He wanted her working beside him. He wanted her there. He just didn't want her telling him what to do or think or be or feel. He wanted her to just be there so he could look at her and hear her laugh and listen to her.

And what? Stick his tongue in her mouth every time she looked at him?

Yeah, maybe that too.

She was right. There was no Kennedy here. There was no Kennedy on her anymore.

So why was he still haunting him?

Claire took the third bedroom for the night. The rest of the crew headed out about eleven. Rebecca put Faith to bed in her new room.

There was Blackbird and laughter. There was his voice and Faith's answers.

Rebecca did dishes and listened to them.

What was he fighting so hard against? The idea of being happy? Was it that scary for him to just once, just for a minute, imagine what life looked like after the fight?

Didn't he realize he could still fight and have this too? That he could still fight and have a family?

Or did the idea of dying on the rooftop like Leon Kennedy and leaving behind those to mourn him just...scare him too much?

A coward at the core? Chris Redfield?

It was interesting to think of it that way. But it explained why he'd never pursued Jill. It explained why he was unmarried at 41 and still alone. No girlfriend. No real roots that he'd put down himself. A gypsy. A nomad. A wanderer.

Was the struggle in him as simple as knowing part of him wanted that?

Was Chris Redfield missing...faith?

She heard him in the hallway, "You mind if I use your shower? I'll rack out on the sofa when I'm done if that's ok."

She shrugged without turning around. "Sure. What's mine is yours."

She heard him leave without a word. Angry. Why?

Faith.

And need?

On the porch, Claire was laughing with Ryman. She kept touching his arm and watching his face. She looked at Kevin like Rebecca...what?

Like Rebecca looked at Chris. It was that simple.

At what point did they stop looking, and start grabbing on?

The shower turned off. She heard him in her bedroom rustling around as he dressed.

Rebecca set down the dishtowel. This was her house. Hers. It was her place.

It was the first time she realized she was trapped between one legend and the other. She'd let go of the Executioner. The Human Tank was in her bedroom brooding and lost. These men...how did she make peace with the fact that she was bound to the ones that were never, ever, simple?

One thing was. There was one damn thing that was always simple.

She turned and moved down the hallway. She checked on Faith and closed her door. She locked up the house and opened her bedroom door.

He was shirtless on the bed. The guitar was in his lap.

He turned his head. She closed the door and leaned back on it, breathing.

Her mouth felt like sandpaper.

He shifted the guitar on his lap. She moved, shaking. And sat down between his legs on the edge of the bed.

Her heart was racing as he settled the guitar on her lap and shifted her hands beneath his. Racing. She was choking on it. It felt amazing to do it.

The music that spilled out was Can't Fight this Feeling. Still rock enough to suit him, still clear enough to show him for what he was. The Human Tank - the big softie. No romance in him, Jessica Sherawat had spat once, he's so fucking oblivious.

Lies. There was so much love in him. It was just carefully locked down where no one would find it.

_Oh, I can't fight this feeling any longer_  
_And yet I'm still afraid to let it flow_  
_What started out this friendship has grown stronger_  
_I only wish I had the strength to let it show_

_I tell myself that I can't hold out forever_  
_I said there is no reason for my fear_  
_'Cause I feel so secure when we're together_  
_You give my life direction_  
_You make everything so clear_

I can't hold out forever. Would he? Could he? She couldn't think of anything else she wanted more than that surrender.

Her hands followed his on the notes, on the chords, on the movement. She turned her head and kissed over the line of his jaw. She might have just left it alone. Maybe. Maybe she would have. But he trembled, just a little, just enough...and she didn't want to leave it alone anymore.

He set the guitar on the floor.

She moved, sensing his reluctance if he asked her to leave...she wasn't sure she'd have to courage to try again. It felt RIGHT, this moment, it felt right. She wanted it.

...she needed it.

And that was the difference.

THE NEED.

It curled in her belly and made her breathless.

He started to stand up and she pushed on his chest until he sat back down at the edge of the bed. Her hand slid against his chest. He looked so calm.

His heart was racing.

What a facade.

Rebecca touched his face, her thumbs swept his damp skin. Water dewed on his scarred flesh from his shower. It beaded in his chest hair.

She rolled her forehead against his and brought a shuddering sigh from him.

Now or never. Now.

Enough of never.

She spilled over his lap.

He tensed, fisting his hands on the bedspread instead of on her.

She whispered, against his mouth, "Don't say no."

He breathed, dying a little, "...B..."

"Don't B, me. Don't. Just say yes now, Chris. Stop making it complicated. This? It's easy. Say yes and let me have you."

Lord.

His hands smoothed back her hair. They twisted a little, roughly, and stole her breath. He vibrated.

The conflicting emotions on his face hurt her. She didn't want him conflicted.

And she whispered, "It's Rebecca. Tonight? Rebecca. Don't say it angry. Don't say it with regret. Say it because you want to."

She licked his mouth. She stole his breath. He gave her what she wanted, "...Rebecca."

"Say yes, Chris. Say yes to me."

He jerked her head back to look at her. He was so very commanding. It thrilled her and killed her and enthralled. She breathed it again, "Say yes."

And he just gave up.

He gave them both what they needed.

"...yes."

They arched together, making matching sounds of need, and straddling him, she was taller. Her hands angled his jaw to her, his slid around to cup her little butt and rub her against him, and she kissed him.

Hell.

Most people thought she was some little sweet pixie. She'd come on to Leon that first time like a whore. She'd never regretted it for a moment.

She wasn't a woman that waited. She wasn't often a woman that played games about it.

She just wanted to feel it again.

And she'd been so afraid she wouldn't.

The music hadn't died with Leon Kennedy.

She hadn't died with him.

And neither had her needs.

She was still able to feel it. And want it. And crave it.

She plumbed his mouth with her tongue, tasting him. It was a wet kiss, good and full. He tasted like beer and sunshine and laughter. She'd been waiting twenty years to find out what he tasted like.

His left hand shifted and hesitated.

What a boy scout, she thought, and grabbed his hand to put it on her. She rubbed it over her breast above her shirt. He took the action as a yes and slid it under her top, and up to palm one of those breasts he'd been eyeballing forever. It was full, heavy, and fit in his hand perfectly.

Rebecca made a little mewling sound into his mouth.

Chris popped their mouths apart audibly. She rubbed on his lap, making his blood rush into his groin and throb. His voice was so low it dragged, making her insane, "I'm not Leon Kennedy."

God.

GOD.

She fisted his hair and licked his mouth, cat like and hungry, "Neither am I. He's not here. But we are. We are, Chris. Stop being a fucking boy scout."

And he stopped trying to do the right thing.

He just stopped trying.

Chris shifted, jerking her down on his lap a little to rub against her body like a rapist. She moaned, gasping a little, and he fed her his tongue for it. It wasn't a sweet kiss now, it was hot, and desperate. She shot a hand down to tug him free of his pants. It made him grunt and surge against her little fist. She angled him at her short clad groin, brushing the sticky head of him against her aching body.

It was like they were sixteen and dying but trying so hard to be good. She started rubbing all over him in the world's most exciting dry hump. Rebecca rode on him like he'd paid her for a lap dance, sliding those shorts all over his trapped cock like she'd kill him with it.

Lab mouse his ass, he mused, she was a cock tease if he'd ever seen one.

She dropped down his body and licked him. One long, wet, swirling glide of her tongue along his needy slit.

That was enough. More than.

And the man with no words? He rasped, "Jesus Christ. You hot little thing. You want it?"

He liked to talk dirty. Lord. She felt her body thrumming with need. "God...yes...now. Please. Now."

And she saw the benefit of all that muscle. Because he stopped playing around.

He rolled, throwing her to the bed beneath him. She literally flew and landed, skidding across the bed and bouncing. Her pulse sped up so far she thought it might come out her throat.

He crawled up her body like a lion, bringing her mouth open in a whine of want. She couldn't get enough handfuls of his back or his chest. She scraped nails over his chest and had him grunting with pleasure.

He jerked up her shirt and licked her stomach like a dog or something, wet, and slow. LORD.

She scrambled her arms up to let him take her shirt.

And his mouth was all over her breasts, driving sounds of gasping need from her mouth. Her hands shot down into his pants to put nails into his ass while he devoured her. Not gentle. He was suck, and fuck, and pressure. He didn't let up either. He assaulted her breasts like he'd taken down his enemies – head on, no halting, merciless.

Her back bowed, her hands trapped by his over her head when she scrambled for something to hold on to. He pinned her and held her down. She jerked, breasts tingling, skin flushing with it.

He rasped, laughing thickly, "Tell me what you want."

Her voice squeaked, delighting him, and she begged, "All of it. More teeth. Harder."

A wolfish grin. His hand closed around her throat and thrilled her boneless. "Tell me who you want."

Need, she thought, he had it too. He needed her to say it...and free them both from the ghost.

"I know who you are. I know that. Do you?"

Like a demon exorcised. She grabbed his face.

"Who am I?"

A wolf in the darkness, "Rebecca."

"Yeah. No B. Rebecca."

He sunk his teeth into her breast and she bucked, shaking like a leaf.

Sweet little pixie...no. Sexy little demon sprite. She was clearly here to rip his soul from his dick and leave him a blithering, quivering, coming mess.

Sweat sprang on her body, her mouth opened on a soundless cry, he pinned her hands against her chest between her breasts to anchor her... and he shifted his teeth against her through her shorts.

She keened.

There was no other word. She keened.

Teeth. He bit her, sucking her through the fabric. She mewled, bouncing.

He ground the heel of his hand over her, making her flop and buck against him. Her shorts were soaked. His hands jerked them off and left her in little white panties.

Little white ones. Simple. Unadorned. Small.

Laughing, gruffly, darkly – he mused, "Jesus."

She grabbed for her panties and he shook his head, grabbing her wrists. He trembled and threw her arms over her head again. Gasping, bowing, she watched him shift against her.

His pants were barely down. But he rubbed himself against her.

She squeaked, shaking. The friction of him against her panties, forcing the cloth over her aching body, brought her mouth open a cry of need.

And yet he didn't take her.

Why?

Her brain said: "You know why. He's a boyscout. He doesn't have anything. He won't use you like that."

Touched. Desperate. She grabbed his face and fucked his mouth with her tongue until they were both dying from it.

And she gasped, "Do it. Ok? Please? Do it. Now. Please now. Now. Just…now."

LORD.

He was shaking.

Shaking, shaking his head, quaking and aching and heavy in his sack, his soul, and his guts. He jerked her panties to the side. She squealed with delight, whining a little as she humped her hips toward him.

He didn't fuck her.

He wanted to fuck her.

He ran himself all over her needy little slit. She bucked and jerked in his arms. He caught her flailing hands, held them down on her chest to keep her captive, and thrust against her wet folds, torturing them both. She begged, bucking, grunting.

He shoved his fingers into her while she almost wept with need.

First one of them. Then two, he shoved them into her creamy heat, they sucked him in hungrily – and she came. Instantly. Wetly. Wantonly. She just fucked his fingers and came all over his hand, a hungry little thing that wanted a good hard ride.

He wanted to ride her fast and endless. He punched the pillow beside her head with frustration, cursed with denial, and brought her gasping and excited beside him. She turned her face and kissed him, slow and rolling. Sucking his tongue, crushing his fingers inside her as she heaved and humped so hard against his questing digits that it tried to kill them both.

He wanted to be inside her. He wanted to bury himself in her and fuck until she was bowlegged.

He had nothing to do so.

He ran himself over her soaking heat until he was insane with it and let her panties slide back on her throbbing, bucking body. He kept his fingers in her while came and crested and cried.

He palmed one of her perfect breasts, rolling it.

She leaned up on her elbows, opened her mouth, and ran it all over him while he stroked himself and her, and shook. Like he was having a seizure or something.

Lord.

She was a siren. She wanted him to come for her.

He shoved his fingers into her hard enough to watch her eyes blur, she bucked and cried out.

And it was enough.

He pinned her to the bed, humped on her like a desperate teenager, rubbed himself all over her soaked panties in a desperate denial of the fucking they both wanted, had her gasping and jerked and dying...and he cursed dark and desperate.

Mewling, she grabbed him down to her. All tongue, all spilling hands and stroking.

He finally leaned back to grab a handful of her hair. He jerked enough on it to bring her shaking beneath him. They were transfixed with each other.

Finally, he shoved off her and rolled away, staring at the ceiling.

Boy Scout, Rebecca bought madly, he hadn't even gone.

And they lay in the quiet dark panting. Curious at his rage, she leaned over his shoulder and nuzzled his face.

He turned his mouth to kiss her. Soft. Smooth. Endless.

She shook, stroking his hair.

Not angry at her. He wasn't. Himself? A little.

She could have left it alone. It was so hot in the room. It was boiling. She could just..leave it this way and it was good. So good.

Her hand slid down over his stomach. She gripped him in her fist. He jerked like a shock rod was shoved against his groin.

She pulled him like a handle. He rolled. Her legs parted, her fingers twisted in his hair to bring him to her mouth. She guided him in her fist, shoving aside her panties like some kind of desperate thing.

She felt him jerk. She felt him resist.

And it was enough. Her voice rasped, high and desperate, "Please. I need you. Say yes."

It was the right answer. Somehow. The right one.

One hand slid around her throat and squeezed, bringing her breath in an excited whine, "How?"

God. She breathed it, desperately, "Hard."

He anchored her hips, rubbed once again her while she keened, and plowed into her.

Not hard.

Brutal.

Jesus.

She wasn't ready. Well, she was ready, her body was all kinds of ready. But his entry was swift and brutal. Her panties were simply ripped to the side to let him.

What had Jill said?

Jackhammer.

He plowed her like he'd kill her, or possess her, or destroy her. She bucked, his hand over her mouth to keep her quiet as she screamed behind it. Merciless, he hammered her into the bed while her fingers handcuffed around the headboard rails above her to hold on.

Three thrusts in and she came apart, grunting, jerking and coming. He shifted her legs over his arms and kept right on going. It drove her into the headboard, it brought her gasping and sweating and screaming. She felt him tighten.

She gasped, grasping and jerking at his face. "I need it."

What was it? She didn't know. She didn't. But she needed it.

She heard him curse in her ear and start shaking like he was trying so hard to resist. Finally, he urged her face up to his and tongued her mouth until she was nearly dead where she lay with it and he hissed, "Fuck it."

Two wet, thunderous thrusts into her aching body and she felt him go board stiff, almost painfully tight, and he finished inside her.

It was utterly possessive. It was so totally unexpected that she came apart with the thrill of owning him. Her mouth smashed against his, nearly biting too hard.

It brought his laughter, thick and dark and hungry. And she like that too.

She'd asked for it, she thought madly, as she clasped him to her and bowed, jerking and flopping and taking it. She'd said need.

He'd given her what they both needed: a good hard filthy fucking in a house that didn't belong to the wrong man.

He let her quaking legs go and they slid down his flanks and planted, leaving her splay legged with him between them. His ear dropped to her chest and laid there, listening.

Holy god in Heaven, she thought, that was what happened when you got flattened by a tank.

Her hands shifted and slid around his head to hold him to her. He didn't bother to roll off. He didn't bother to move.

And so she fell asleep with him still buried inside her...wondering what kind of merit badge he'd just lost for bare backing an old friend.

It made her smile and hold him tighter.

And left her breathless.

The morning after a spontaneous sexual decision, admittedly potentially twenty years in the making, Rebecca found herself in the kitchen in her big white t-shirt with Calvin and Hobbes engaged in a snowball fight on it, ugly gray sweats three sizes too big, and her hair sticking up off her head like she'd stuck her finger in an electrical socket.

She was making coffee, listening to Dora the Explorer teach her daughter about "no swiping" in the living room, and watching Claire sit at the table in tiny shorts, a sports bra, and a cute little headband. She'd been on the treadmill already it seemed…it was barely six a.m.

She was also reading the paper aloud and hooting with laughter, "You see this shit? They're saying the damn groundhog saw his shadow. That rat faced little turd. Who wants six more weeks of this crap!?"

Rebecca set a cup of coffee on the table for her with a smirk, "He's not a rat. He's a marmot…basically a big ground squirrel."

Claire gave her a narrow look as Rebecca went to butter a muffin from the oven. "Science nerd."

The girl scientist chuckled, unoffended, "You know they say gingers have no soul right?"

Claire gave her the finger and a kissy face with a wink. Rebecca pantomimed smooching back at her. Girl humor was only understood by those who were possessed of the right chromosomes.

She was kinda wishing she knew how to broach the uncomfortable topic of her wild night with Claire. Claire was, hands down, her best friend. But – the wild night? It was all about the unprotected sex she'd had with her best friend's brother…so…that conversation wasn't really something you just tossed out there.

In the living room Faith let out a squeal. There was the distinct sounds of raspberries and tickling. The deep grumble of his voice signaled the arrival of Rebecca's wild night. And the end of faking that she wasn't, entirely, nuts about the man who'd shared it with her.

And her brain said: EEK.


	10. Chapter 10

**Life After You**

* * *

_"I can't keep running away. I have to face the truth, accept responsibility. That's the only way I'll ever remember. The only way I'll get my life back."_

**— Chris Redfield**

* * *

**Flat Rock Creek Minnesota- Winter 2019**

* * *

Rebecca had faced a hunter in the mansion that first time and not been, nearly, as afraid as she was facing off with the man who'd spent the night rutting like a stallion between her legs.

Why?

It was almost funny.

She shifted, a little nervous.

Claire mused, "…it's arisen, B. It's alive. Get a muffin in case it's angry. Sometimes if you throw food at it, it won't attack."

Rebecca laughed. She readied a muffin and tossed it to Claire. She sipped her coffee and poured a cup for Chris. Curiously? Her hands trembled a little.

And it made her smile.

Chris made his way into the kitchen in a pair of sleeping pants and a sweatshirt so old and faded it was hard to tell if it had once been blue, gray, or not had a dozen holes in it. The neck was gaping in different places, the logo on the front likely read whatever alma mater he might have attended, but it was hard to tell.

Claire threw the muffin at him the second she saw him.

Without missing a beat?

He caught it and took a bite. "Thanks, kid."

She didn't look up from her paper and gave him a peace sign.

He moved to the counter. Rebecca was staring really hard at the sliding glass door and the snow falling outside. The sun had gilded it white and pretty.

At the table Claire remarked, "Is it weird to dump a guy for being too accessible?"

Rebecca shifted a little as Chris came up behind her and reached for his coffee. She felt his arm brush her back and her face flushed a little. Her voice squeaked, and the corner of her eye caught his amused smile.

"Ohhh I don't think so. Devon?"

"Yeah." Claire laid the paper down, eyeing her, "You know – I like him. But it's…too easy? Is that stupid? I've been out dating for so long, maybe I just don't know how to be happy."

Rebecca nodded a little, wondering if anyone could smell her nervousness like perfume. Chris leaned on the counter behind her, sipping his coffee. Was it necessary for him to stand RIGHT THERE? He was fucking with her, clearly. His hip kept brushing her butt at the stove.

"Um…that's pretty wise insight actually. Do you love him?"

Claire shifted, pursing her lips in consideration, "Maybe? I don't know. I feel like if I did? I'd just know it."

"I agree with that."

Claire tapped her foot, "Two cents on this, grumpy guy?"

Chris' voice startled Rebecca, and had her bobbling the spatula she was using to turn her eggs.

And his voice was superbly amused. Yep, definitely fucking with her. "I think you can't help who you want. If you're sitting here thinking this hard about it? Pull the plug and be done with it."

Claire rose, nodding sharply, "Right. It's love, not rocket science. I'm gonna go call him and let him down easy."

She moved down the hallway into her room. Rebecca called, "What's the reason for the big change of heart?"

Claire gave her a narrow look. Rebecca grinned happily.

And the redhead mused, "You are not as smart as you think you are, science nerd."

Rebecca laughed and kissed at her while Claire chuckled and went into her room.

And now?

She was alone with Chris Redfield. Her science nerd brain said again: Eeek.

Rebecca felt her pulse speed up and her mouth go dry. But she said, "Eggs?"

He set the coffee down beside his hip. Faith squealed with delight as Swiper stole once more that which didn't belong to him. And Chris leaned over.

Her breath was a little choppy. She could lean an inch to her right and touch him.

He said, quietly, "Those eggs are dead, kid. You slaughtered them."

They were, indeed, burnt. She laughed, shakily, and turned off the burner. "Good with science, bad with cooking. Brains over common sense huh?"

"Hmm."

Face burning, head light – she set the pan in the sink of bubbles and went again for polite conversation, "Busy day?"

"Nope."

"No?"

"Nope. All done here. Just a matter of shutting down the site and moving on."

Oh.

Lord.

Her heart hitched a little. "Ah. On to the next?"

"Looks that way."

"Right." She caught a glimpse of herself in the toaster and nearly passed out. She looked like an utter hot mess. Who could blame him? She was all wild hair and ratty clothes. Awful. "The bioterror world awaits huh?"

"Yup."

"Not much happening here anyway but starting Faith in preschool and touring my campus for my new job…well…and six more weeks of winter. So who can blame you? More exciting out there than tits deep in snow in the middle of win-"

He put his mouth to her ear where she was washing dishes, "Rebecca?"

No B. Rebecca.

She whispered, "Yeah?"

"Ask me to stay."

She breathed, low and sharp. "I don't want to be that girl."

"What girl? Ask me to stay."

She turned her head. He touched his forehead to hers and stole her breath. "Will you stay for awhile?"

She nearly had to go up on tiptoe to feel him. His hands slid into the soapy water with hers. They blended around plates and cups.

And he said, softly, "Yes."

That was it.

Just yes.

No major drama. No freaking out. No fits or running. I'm not Leon Kennedy – he'd said. And he wasn't.

Their fingers slid together over a spoon. The warm water bubbled happily around their hands. His mouth pressed against the curve of her neck behind her ear. She tilted her head for it, shaking a little.

And breathed, "Stay because you want to. Because you want to. Not for me."

She turned in his arms, his hands stayed in the water. Hers curled in his sweatshirt.

He angled his mouth to her, rubbing a little. It made her breathless. And he answered her, in that gruff voice of his, "I'm staying for me."

She nodded, sharp, shaking a little, "On the couch?"

"….you're pretty dumb for a genius." She laughed and he swallowed it on a smooth spill of mouth. The dishes clattered, his soapy hands shifted to her head to tilt her back to him. Hers went up under his sweatshirt to touch his back. She got two handfuls of muscle on him and a grunt for her efforts.

He lifted her to sit on the edge of the sink and slid against her.

Oh, she thought, oh oh-oh.

That's what it looked like to just…live it.

Ten seconds of kissing Chris Redfield in your kitchen.

Her legs curled over his flanks and the arches of her feet slid against his calves. Even sitting, she wasn't as tall.

Ten seconds of truth.

There was a clatter of noise from the hallway.

Rebecca slid her mouth away, breathless.

And there was Claire with owl eyes.

It was almost comic.

She mused, laughing, "How good were those muffins!?"

And Rebecca put her face against Chris' neck to laugh.

Things shifted slightly over the six weeks of winter the groundhog brought them. Rebecca added a few goats to her property for maintenance of the land without effort. Chris could be found, on any given day, fortifying the barn and the chicken coop against the severe weather.

The cold didn't deter him. Ever. It didn't stop him.

The Human Tank indeed. He could be found in the middle of the blizzard outside securing Pattycake, which was agreed was the worst name for a horse, but Claire was adamant about it. Additionally? He was a helluva an equestrian.

In hindsight, she might have known it since he'd run the ranch and roped steer without any trouble. But she'd never seen him ride until the morning she was feeding the chickens and heard him coming in the snow. On the back of the pretty paint mare, he was something to see.

She stood in her parka and watched him ride into the barn like a cowboy or something.

Her mind telegraphed the image of Leon on one. A good image. And she never, ever shied away from thinking of him.

Denying what they'd been wasn't the point of moving on. Loving him was simply fact.

She was a scientist. Her life existed in facts.

There were pictures in her house of him. There were stories in her daughter's ears. There was a legacy that would live on in their lives that was him.

Love, by simply existing, had the ability to permeate everything it touched. It was here, in her house, for the man who'd given her Faith. It was here, in her heart, for the man who needed it.

She leaned on the barn door, watching him rub down Pattycake. "How's it look out there?"

Chris turned, smiling lightly. The heavy leather coat he wore suited him. It was his father's and had the smell and feel of good aged hide. She was discovering things about him that never failed to surprise.

He was heavily rooted in his history. The man with no roots. He had them. From the Dakotas where his family hailed, to the Irish countryside where his mother had come from. He had stories about them that told the tale of a boy who'd been loved.

She didn't push on the cabin but part of her wanted him to ask her there. She knew what it would mean if he did.

She was making her peace with him returning to work. It would happen, when the world needed Chris Redfield, he'd go. He was a hero. It was what he did. She was ok with it, at the core. She'd known, in her heart, that loving Leon Kennedy would have come with a risk that was similar.

Some men were made to fight. Some men were made to farm. Some men were made to do both.

He laid the saddle over the barn door and turned to close Pattycake in for the day. "Like a white wasteland of death."

Rebecca laughed lightly.

Amused, he came toward her with his hands tucked in his pockets.

In the weeks since he'd stopped fighting, the bruises were healing. The scientist in her said the body did that, it healed when we hurt. The woman in her knew that some wounds were deeper than any medicine could touch.

The struggle on him was painful.

What was it? The want to stay here with her and be happy? The want to fight on and never look back?

Both. He was a complex creature.

She'd never seen anyone more loving. With Faith, he was so in love it was redeeming. He taught her, books and music and words. He was always laughing. Always.

And in all the years she'd known him, she tried to think of when she'd ever seen him so happy. Faith made him happy. Rebecca was glad for it.

She always wondered if he was happy with Faith's mother too.

In one hand, she never went to bed alone. Some nights, she'd sit in her room reading and grading papers and she'd glance up to find him leaning in the frame watching her. There were no words than, never any words, just the shift of papers and his hands.

He was an incredibly passionate man. He left her breathless with it. It found her at times when she least expected it.

She'd come home on lunch one day to find him in the kitchen cleaning his guns. With Faith in daycare, he worked from home a lot on reports or via video chat when needed. He didn't seem interested in going in to the office.

Rebecca had set down her briefcase and found him behind her as she turned. "Surprised you're not out riding the fence again."

Silent, he was so silent when it suited him. For a big man, he could move stealthily without blinking.

She'd put her hand to her chest in surprise and laughed breathy, "Lord – what?"

Not a word, which was his thing entirely, the lack of words. He'd simply hiked up her skirt, taken her panties, and put his mouth on her. Her hands on the door frame behind her, one leg over his shoulder, and his tongue in her.

Lord.

It was good. It just was. There was no bad there.

He always had his hands on her and he wasn't shy about it. He always fell asleep on her, in her, with her. He was an incredibly physical man. He just showed how he felt through actions and not words.

She wanted the words. She knew it was girly. She knew it was silly almost. She wanted the words.

The heavy spill of a five o'clock shadow was scratchy on her. She liked it. She liked all of it.

Her eyes found his and held.

And there were no words there. Because he could smell the want on her or something. Like an animal.

Her tummy quivered.

He pressed her against the warm barn door now and dipped his face. There was that, Rebecca mused, that as well. A possessive man, he simply invaded the hell out of your personal space until you either let him in or pushed him away.

She never pushed him away.

Her hands came up to catch his face and pull him down. His arms shifted and looped around her to lift her off her feet against him. The blood rushed to her face, it rushed to her loins, it rushed to her heart. It was cold in the barn but you wouldn't know it.

Because there was no cold here.

He had a reputation for it. For being a cold man. There was nothing cold in him.

His hands were under her parka and on her jeans. Oh, she thought madly, here? Here. HERE.

Hers shifted to find him under the heavy coat he wore. She desperately toed off her boots. His hands jerked on her pants and took her panties with it.

Yep. Here.

And that was him too.

Everywhere. Anywhere. It was like knowing once you opened that door for him, he simply didn't stop. He took what he wanted like he kicked in doors, no bullshit.

A shift of denim. He lifted her like she was nothing. Her hands scrambled at his shoulders and grabbed his face. She stuck her tongue in his mouth and her body took him in a single thrust that shoved her roughly into the barn door.

It slapped with a jingle of keys and change in his pocket. She gasped. Soundless, save for heavy panting, he lifted her and lowered her and shoved into her while she keened.

That, she thought, that was what he was.

Cold?

She'd never been hotter.

And here? HERE he had the words. Her mouth broke away, gasping for air. Their foreheads ground together and he murmured, "Say it."

Jesus. HERE he had the words. She twisted her fingers in his hair and got a grunt for it. "Harder. Please."

He liked the please. Always. He liked her noises.

He liked her.

It was that simple.

His arm looped around her waist and dropped her to the floor. She grabbed the empty stall door beside her and turned. He curled against her back to mount her like a bitch in heat.

A sweet little thing?

She was the hottest thing he'd ever had his hands on. She couldn't get enough. She begged for it, like some kind of addict or something. She was all dirty talk and sounds. She submitted to him and rolled on him in the middle of the night with her little hands on his to hold him down.

It made him insane.

When it wasn't good enough. There was the jerk and give of cloth. She pedaled her arms desperately so he could take her coat and throw it aside. His joined it and he chucked his sweater off to get it out of the way.

Hers stayed on, pleasing him as he threw her to all fours in the fragrant hay.

She made sounds of need and excitement. He mounted her madly, wetly, and she was took it and begged and bucked on him like she'd die. No question, the best sex he'd ever had.

He was a wise enough man to know he was trying to fuck his way into her heart.

He knew it even as he rolled her over on the floor and pinned her arms over her head to see her face. She opened her legs wide and gave his name to him. She cried it out. She knew who he was.

He plowed her belly while she nearly wept with need under him.

He knew who she was. He knew what was happening here. You didn't get to be his age and not know. He was in love with her.

He did things to see her smile. He did things out of character for him that he'd never done in forty years to please her. It was flowers she liked in the kitchen and painting her bedroom without her asking in her favorite shade of yellow. It was showing up at the campus unexpectedly to have lunch with her and getting a babysitter on a Tuesday night just to take her to dinner.

Maybe it wasn't Leon Kennedy sweeping her onto a jet or something to take her to Paris at a moments notice, but it was how he knew to show her.

She dragged him down to kiss him. And there was that, she thought wildly, that opened eyed kissing of his. It was incredible. He never, ever, closed his eyes. Like he wanted to see her every time he touched her. Like he wanted to see what he did to her, what he made her feel.

Incredible.

His hand shifted, it slid against their bodies where they were smashing together madly, and it found her at the apex of their joining. A single flick of his thumb against her bucking need and she went, wild, screaming. He scented her release like a predator and plowed her through it, watching her while she died in his arms.

His hand shifted, it gripped her throat, it pinned her there and he finished roughly, bringing her body bucking under his as he held her down to take each rough stroke of him.

Passion, she thought, there was that. That was everywhere. Cold? There was no cold here.

He collapsed onto her and her arms looped around him, shaking, thighs quaking. She laughed, gasping, "Hi."

His muffled laugh against her neck delighted her, "Hi."

She figured maybe it was ok to say some semblance of what she was feeling here. Maybe he didn't say it. Maybe not. But he was still there. He seemed happy. Ask me to stay, he'd said. She was kinda afraid he was using her as an excuse.

As if he'd turn to her one day and say, "You asked me to. That's why I stayed."

So, she breathed, hoarsely, "If you stay here, I'm going to want to keep you."

Oh.

His head came up, his breathing heavy and panting. A helluva thing to say to a guy when he was buried in you up to the hilt, admittedly. He dropped his mouth to kiss her, testing.

She opened her mouth to him. Yeah, he thought, she was that. She simply gave him everything she had.

They separated, gasping. And he answered, gruffly, "So keep me."

Lord. LORD. She wanted to.

She wasn't sure how you held on to a tank.

But she tried.


	11. Chapter 11

**Faith**

* * *

_"No matter how difficult and painful it may be, nothing sounds as good to the soul as the truth."_

**-Martha Beck**

* * *

F**lat Rock River, Minnesota - 2019**

* * *

He left for a few weeks in mid-March. The spring came and swept tenderly over the cold country side. It took the snow and left the budding promise of a warmer season.

Claire did nothing but smile. She was gone for long periods of time and there for longer - but never alone. It wasn't the ghost of Leon Kennedy that was with her anymore - although Rebecca wondered if she'd ever stop seeing the shadow of him on that familiar face when Kevin was around.

Faith had a birthday party while he was gone and the town came out to celebrate. She was cleaning up the mess of it when she realized she was happy.

She just was.

She was happy here. She was happy in this house, in this town, with her life here. She was happy.

And it was ok if he couldn't stay. It was. Because she loved him. She did. But she knew she could do this alone now. She knew, if he had to walk away for the fight, if he had to…she'd survive it.

He'd stayed on Leon's ranch to help her. She didn't need his help anymore. She wanted him to stay, now, because it was what he wanted. Not because it was what she needed.

The door opened. Faith started squealing and laughing and talking over herself. So many stories. So much to say.

She knew he was home.

Her hands paused on the garbage she was throwing into the big can out back.

Home?

Was it?

Rebecca moved into the house to find him holding Faith in his arms. He was in all his heavy gear. He was dirty and looked tired and happy.

Home. It was that. And it came with the risk of knowing every time he left, he might not come back.

When had she become strong enough to survive that? She hadn't died with Leon Kennedy. She wouldn't die without Chris Redfield.

She didn't need him.

The thought stopped her where she stood. She felt it echo. And it was wrong.

It was wrong.

It was her brain insulating her against the pain of losing him. It was her scientist brain protecting her. She was trying to prepare herself for when he left or when he died or when a bullet on a rooftop took him away. And it was a lie.

If he died right then, right in that moment, she'd survive it. But she was a liar.

There was nothing about him she didn't need.

And there was her truth. There it was. She'd loved Leon. Loved him. Madly. Passionately. Desperately. And she'd never, ever needed him. There simply wasn't time for that. They'd run out of time.

She didn't want to run out of time here. It was too goddamn short.

He turned, grinning through the dirt. "Hey."

"Hi." Rebecca picked up the other bag of old cups and plates, "You missed the party."

"I know. I fucking pushed hard to get here. I'm so sorry."

She knew that too and smiled lightly, "It's ok. We'll do something nice tomorrow with just us. Everything ok?"

Faith was clinging to him like she'd never let go. She was rubbing his dirty neck and his arm. She didn't care about his big vest or the fact he, likely, smelled like death. She needed a hug from her Dad.

There it was, Rebecca thought, there was the other part. Leon was her father. Chris was her Dad. That simple. That true.

Truth. It was everywhere she looked in this house.

"Yep. I look bad, I admit, but it wasn't, B. It wasn't bad. It was mostly clean up. The T-Virus Vaccine was on the ground the second the outbreak started. Minimal losses." Faith turned his face to give him a kiss. He did it, no thinking. And smiled at her.

That was it. That simple. Love. He loved her. He looked at her like she was the best thing in his life. It was humbling.

And Rebecca was jealous of her own daughter.

Amused and ashamed a little, Rebecca smiled softly and took the trash out. She lingered in the early spring air, watching the horizon darken with the setting sun. Faith needed him. He needed faith.

The child or the feeling?

Both. Clearly.

She went back in the house to hear him putting her to bed. Laughter. Blackbird. Story time and bath. Faith with fifteen stories about cats and birds that pooped on Mrs. Johnson's purse and Billy Ferguson pulled her hair. Did he know that dogs couldn't look down? Did he know that your pee sometimes had no color!? And his laughter. His laughter. His laughter. It felt like an arrow in her heart every time. She was so painfully in love with him.

The girl or the scientist? Again. Both. Clearly.

Rebecca closed the house down and poured a glass of wine. She rooted out the secret pack of smokes she kept in her dresser drawer and went out onto the porch to watch the night roll in.

Clean, quiet, he joined her after awhile in a blue hoodie with the RPD logo across the front and loose old jeans. She shifted in her chair when he stepped out. He helped himself to her wine and her smoke, without asking.

Which was entirely his thing.

Watching him, Rebecca mused, "How bad was it really?"

Chris laughed, lightly. The fading sun set the salt and pepper of his hair on fire in a way that made her sigh. "Ugly. Messy. Mostly containment. The vaccine helped, it did. But it can't reverse what's been done. We need a cure. I can't believe we aren't there yet. All these years. We can stop it before it happens. Why can't we cure it?"

Rebecca shifted and nearly swallowed her heart. Because he could have sat anywhere. But he sat down in front of her and leaned back. Her legs looped around his waist and her arms curled over his chest, holding.

His head leaned against her shoulder.

A huge step for a man who'd resisted the gentleness of it so hard in the beginning.

What had Claire said? He's so lonely. He needs love.

Love was something she knew how to give him. If he'd take it. Would he?

And would she survive it if he didn't give it back? She'd given Leon the out. You don't have to love me back, she'd said. But she'd always waited for him to.

She'd always had faith he would.

She didn't know if she'd survive it if she gave it now and lost Chris in the rush of it. That was the truth of needing someone. You were so afraid you'd lose them.

Rebecca kissed his neck and snuggled him, sighing. "I'm glad you're back. I'll keep pushing for the cure, you know that."

Chris turned his head. She leaned over. Smooth.

Soft.

Endless.

And never failed to send her heart in a tattoo of want in her chest.

He said quietly, "It's good to be home."

Home.

That word. Was it? For him? Was it?

She kissed him again, eyes open. And she said, "I missed you."

His smile was tender. His hand lifted to stroke a thumb over her chin. "I missed you guys too."

Fuck.

Plural.

Rebecca closed her eyes. She breathed a little. Would it ever be just her? Was she simply looking for too much here?

Quietly, he asked, "What is it?"

Her eyes opened and she took a deep breath. Find your truth, her mind instructed, now you find it. And she answered him, "I missed you."

Curious, Chris studied her face. He seemed amused, "How much?"

Rebecca slid out from behind him. She went into the house. She didn't stop until she was in the bedroom.

The door opened. The door closed.

She turned and he scooped her up to press her into the wall.

Wet. Wild. Tongues and teeth. She was gasping as his hand slid into her sleeping pants to fill her full of his fingers.

Good.

She wanted more.

She grabbed his face, holding it as he plunged those fingers into her need. And she gasped, "I missed you."

He paused, fingers inside her, feeling the wet and want of her. His eyes volleyed over her face. Yeah, she thought, see it. Because it's there.

It was entirely in his hands what he did with it.

Chris slid his hand out of her pants. He helped himself to her shirt and tugged it free. It was sweaters and smooth hands and spilling mouths.

He lifted her and he didn't throw her on the bed. He laid her on it and slid naked and beautiful atop her. Her hands pleasured them both by stroking him. She could touch him a thousand times and it wouldn't change the want of it.

His mouth slid over her collarbone, it tasted smooth and slow along the curve of her ribcage. It lingered and laved the pretty pink crest of each begging breast. It swirled around her belly button and nipped gently at one hip.

Oh, she thought, there was his truth.

A man without words. A man with actions. He nipped the inside of her thigh and had her breath falling out in a needy little pant.

Smooth and tender. Gentle. This was his truth.

She took his face to guide him back to her mouth. Her hands slid over his scarred back and she rolled him to his belly on the bed. She touched him with her mouth, with her fingers. She traced and kissed and worshiped.

And he closed his eyes. Why?

Her mouth nipped gently at his side and she laid there on her belly slightly atop him, petting. Their noses aligned and she kissed his mouth, gentle, sweet. Eyes closed, breathing, he said quietly, "I always miss you when I'm gone."

Lord.

Rebecca made some sound of need and pushed him to his back. His eyes opened, his hands shifted. She mounted him, slick and needy. There was no rush here. There was no raping need. There was just the swell of something tender and raw.

She rode him, shaking, and he leaned up to take her mouth. Her eyes were closed, her body fluid, and he rasped it, stealing her heart, "Look at me."

And so she did that too.

His hands shifted and cupped her face, holding her while they surged together. Faster now, needier, desperate. Her fingers gripped into the soft spill of hair above his nipples and gripped, bringing his noises into her mouth.

He tightened. She shook. She didn't look away.

And she gave him her truth. "I love you."

His hands caught her throat and they rolled. She went, taking his desperate plunging between her legs with small whines of need, she let him drive her into the bed and came apart in his arms while their hands synched above her head.

She didn't look away. He didn't either. And it filled her in places she couldn't begin to name.

He licked her mouth. Rebecca gasped and started trembling. He let go of her hands. His shifted to hold her face. Hers slid over his shoulders and gripped.

And he rasped, hoarsely, "I love you."

It broke over her like a storm or a wave or a bullet in the heart. It brought her mouth open on a small mewl of need. He thrust into her twice and finished, taking her soft cry into him as he gave her everything he had.

Everything.

A terrifying moment for him. And maybe the most redeeming one he'd ever had.

They curled together, breathing, breathing. Breaking.

Because that part was easy to do. The breaking was easy. It was the picking up the pieces that hurt.

The "what does it all mean" conversation was out there. It would come. But not now. Now? Now was for holding on.

She lay on the bed, octopus holding him. His mouth slid against her neck and kissed, gently.

The breaking was easy, she thought, and wonderful.

The middle of the night spilled moonlight over them. She shifted and glanced at the clock on the nightstand. Three a.m.

She should be sleeping. She kept drifting in and out.

It was hard to sleep with your heart pounding. She turned over to touch his face where it was peacefully dreaming on the pillow beside her. Her fingers skimmed his jaw and touched his nose. Her mouth touched on his, lightly.

His eyes were colorless in the dark as he opened them. Brilliant. Haunting.

He rolled on top of her. She opened, she lifted, and took him inside with a gasp of want.

They crested, they blended, they came – wet and smooth and needy.

He shuddered above her while she quivered beneath him. The blankets slid and drifted and left them naked and twined.

She said it again, shaking, "I love you, Chris."

And he said it back. He said it. No hesitation. Nothing. Just him. Just the way he was. "I can't do anything but love you"

God. GOD. She was going to wake up and he'd be gone. She just knew it. She felt it in her bones.

But he was still there. When she'd rolled over? Still there.

Her hands slid down in his back and gripped his hips, rolling him inside of her. They slid up his spine and gripped handfuls of his muscles as he plunged desperately between her quaking thighs. She arched, spine bowing, and he commanded, "Say it again."

Yes. Dreaming. She had to be. "I love you."

His arm shifted, draped one of her legs over it, opened her to the push of him inside of her. She gripped his back hard, pulling a raw sound of pleasure from him. Her other hand slid over his ass and gripped, pushing him into her as she lifted to take him. Her other foot planted on the mattress, anchoring her beneath him.

She tightened, gasping, and came on a cry of need covered by his hand. His hand shifted and his mouth tooks hers as he pistoned into her. She bounced, and broke, on a sound like a sob.

He didn't stop. He moved faster, harder, and hoarsely, gruffly, commanded her, "Again."

Two fat tears of it, happiness? Yes. And need. NEED. She sobbed it out, "Oh, god, I love you. I need you. I love you."

She couldn't sing. But it was a song to him. It was the only song that mattered.

He shifted, he jerked her up into his lap and spilled her around him. She held on, pressing her wet face into his shoulder. It was short, brief, fast and finished. She swallowed him in while he spilled her mouth to his and took her tears.

It was insane to think that tears could heal you. Insane. And yet here they were.

Trembling, they clung. Her hands jerked and gripped into his back, hard, exciting him even as it comforted somehow. Possessive, was the little pixie, and his.

His.

It was insane.

And the little voice from the doorway shouted, so loud, startling in the dark. "Mommy, no! Mommy! NO!"

Confused, Rebecca let go of him. He spilled her to the side and rolled. Faith leaped on the bed to strike wildly at her mother.

Rebecca lifted her arms to guard her face, horrorfied, more shocked than anything.

"Faith!" He caught her and dragged her away. She turned and smacked madly at her mother again. "Stop it! Faith! What are you doing?!"

Rebecca huddled back on the bed, shaking. She looked so stricken, so hurt with the sheet pulled around to protect her.

The little girl was weeping madly now. She turned against Chris and grabbed him around the neck. "Mommy! No…"

They locked eyes over her weeping head. The little girl was all storm, all passionate sobbing. Rebecca covered her mouth, holding in a sound of pain. And his hand shifted from the little girl to brush her face. He shook his head, comforting her.

After the sobs turned to hiccups, he eased Faith back to see her face. His voice was gruff and low in the dark room, "What is it? Why would you hit your mama?"

She hiccuped out another sob and breathed, "Her hurt you. Her hurted you."

Again, they locked eyes. Rebecca shook her head, unable to help. She didn't know what that meant. What did that mean?

And Chris instructed, softly, "Show me what you mean, Faith. How did she hurt me?"

Faith shifted. She let go of his chest and pointed to him. She rubbed, so softly at his shoulder and the place where it curled over his neck. "Look what her DID! Booboos! E'bywhere!"

Oh.

Rebecca covered her mouth with both hands. It was the first time she'd seen him without his shirt. The little girl that loved him. The first time she'd seen the scars, the wounds, the battle – on the man who was everything to her. She didn't know the warrior. She didn't know The Human Tank. She didn't know the survival that came in each slash, each whip mark and bullet wound and inch of flesh that was soiled and saturated with pain and remembrance.

To her? It looked like her Daddy had just been beaten up by the only other person in her limited little world. Her mother.

To protect him? She'd laid hands on her mama.

Faith shouted it and nearly broke Rebecca's heart with it, "You mean! You mean Mama!"

Rebecca rolled off the bed, throbbing. It was misplaced, clearly, it was touching for Chris – surely. But it hurt her. She said nothing and left the room.

Hurting for her, Chris eased the little girl back to look at him. "I'm not hurt."

"Booboos! All o'ber!"

He soothed her now, tucking her in to stroke her hair and rock her, "I'm not hurt, Faith. I'm not hurt."

Faith hiccuped against him, clinging, "Booboos…e'bywhere…"

Jesus.

His heart swelled. His voice broke a little, healing them both, "Faith..." Her name, her gift to him, "I'm alright now. I'm ok. I'm alright. I promise."

"I hate Mama...mean..."

He kissed her, holding tight like she'd float away if he let go, "No. Not Mama. Not Mama. Mama saved me. She'd never hurt me. Mama saved me."

Faith hiccuped, squeezing, "No booboos?"

"No. Not from Mama. Ever. Mama loves me."

She sniffled, clinging. "I love you."

That part was easy. And always had been. He breathed it, "I love you more."

And that part? True.

He rocked her and sang to her until she fell asleep, breath hitching. Booboos everywhere. That's what she saw when she looked at him.

He laid her on the bed and rose, moving to the mirror on the vanity. All muscle – he mused – he was all muscle. And survival. And fight.

And it was lost to a little girl that only saw the pain on him. The pain of it. The damage.

There was collateral damage for him now. Not just to his body, which was so used to pain it was almost impervious…but to those around him that waited in the dark to hold on. To a little girl that would strike back her own mother to protect him.

To the woman that threw herself around him and held on and waited when he left for him to come home. Who never pushed or prodded or asked him to quit. Who understood he was a man who needed to see it through, who wouldn't, couldn't, ever quit until it was done.

What was he willing to risk to see the end?

He stayed naked and left the bedroom. He found her wrapped in a little robe on the porch smoking. It was cool but he was, as always, impervious as he joined her there. She shifted and slid over his lap sideways and shared her smoke with him.

Her head laid on his chest, fingers stroking the scars there. He said, quietly, "She loves you, B. You know that."

Rebecca snuggled, sniffling. He was charmed by it. Like her daughter, she clung and cried on him. What had he gotten himself into here? A mess, no doubt, and a beautiful one. Where people cried and loved him.

Rebecca breathed, "B...a stupid name. Like a dog."

He stared into the dark, smiling. "No...B...for blackbird."

She went very still in his arms, breathing. He felt her stiffen and dug for the words she wanted, "Yeah. That song was for you. It was for Claire, growing up. That part was true. But in the castle? When I was alone and I couldn't figure out if I was better off dead or if you were or if we were gonna be trapped there for the rest of our lives? It was for you. Because it was you that kept me going. You and Faith. You...and faith...that our moment would arise."

It turned out the heart could feel a thousand things at once. B. For Blackbird. For hope. And for the faith he'd never really been missing at all. She kissed his chest, over the slick scars there. "You should have said something. All this time, I thought that nickname was to remind me I was young and superfluous and silly."

He kissed the crown of her head, sighing, "Not always the best with words, I guess."

She shook her head and kissed his throat and the line of his jaw, "You're the best with everything. Everything. I'm the stupid one. Not you."

"Silly scientist girl, you're too smart to be dumb."

Rebecca clung, throbbing for him. She whispered, "What will you tell her? About what happened to you. About us. About any of it. What will you tell her?"

He shifted and tilted her face back to him. The smoke curled between them as he kissed her, smooth and soft. "The truth. I got this fighting for you. I got this fighting for her."

"For a silly scientist and her kid?"

They held eyes for a long moment. His hand slid and gripped in that rough way of his that stole her breath and excited her, "No. For my daughter…and my wife."

Her hand fisted, gripping muscle on his back so hard it hurt. And he liked that too. "I never asked you for that. I don't expect it."

He kissed her, eyes open, thrilling her. "I'm not asking for you. I'm not asking at all. I'm telling you to marry me, Rebecca. Marry me. And let me stay."

LORD.

Her heart hammered. It bled. It beat. She licked his mouth and felt him tremble. "Chris…I've been waiting for this moment to arise."

Her hands slid over his scars, they pulled against his heart, and just kept holding on.

That was their truth, she thought, it was here – in their place. In the one they'd made together. In the girl that stood between everything and him like a shield. Like a protector.

And given him back his faith.

* * *

_~~~~~Fin~~~~~_


End file.
